Can someone like me be an ally?

It was June 9th at 6:50am. Typically I’m checking that school lunches are made and breakfast is consumed before bus stops, but instead I sat at my dining room table crying.

I sent a flurry of texts to my friend Missy. She responded right away by calling. I asked her through tears if someone like me could be an LGBTQ ally – someone who holds a Biblical interpretation that God designed sexual relationships to be between one man and one woman.

Missy, being a bisexual and a Christian, seemed like a safe person to ask.

Predictably, Missy was glad to conversate, but first started by asking me why. Why these questions today (and at this ungodly hour).

“Pride month”, I replied. “It’s complicated for me but what’s not complicated is wanting to help LGBTQ folks feel seen and loved. But I’m not even sure they’d want me as an ally.”

“But that’s where you’re wrong,” Missy interrupted. “That’s not what Pride Month is for.”

She went on to explain how Pride Month has been hijacked in the last 10 years. She started with a review of the Stonewall Riots of June 1969, a time when homosexuality was outlawed, how police raided a gay bar, violent beatings ensued along with days of escalating protests against gay discrimination and hate.

“Pride month is when we protest the violence and brutality against our people. Pride month is not for straight people to make LGBTQ people feel seen – it’s for us to take a stand, remember, and make sure it never happens to us again.”

Then the dagger.

“Straight people joining Pride Month is another way they can center themselves, elevate their voice, and not be left out of something.”

(I’m not accusing all straight folks of having selfish intentions being vocal during Pride Month, but I hope Missy’s observations give us pause to consider if our desire to belong masquerades as outward love and acceptance. Perhaps unconsciously. Perhaps only sometimes. Even the best of intentions can have an ugly underbelly if we’re humble enough to look.)

“This new performative allyship is bullshit” she continued. “So is the commodifying Pride by big corporations selling thousands of products. And the expectations of being an ally here in Portland are ridiculous, Amy.  Be gracious with yourself. What really matters is your willingness to wrestle and show compassion all year round.”

But I was skeptical of Missy’s answer.

We were friends. We could have hard conversations.  Was she letting me off the hook? Was being an ally as simple as being compassionate and kind, as she suggested? Can I unapologetically hold a belief to be true about God and His design, while offering genuine acceptance and love –  and would it be received? (And is caring how it’s perceived, or more accurately how I’m perceived, at the heart of my angst? If so, that’s icky self-centeredness.)

So that morning, after getting the kids on the bus, I sat down on my couch and reached out on Instagram to my LGBTQ friends: What do you need or want from an ally?

These were their responses:

To feel loved for who I am

Someone who seeks out our stories and experiences and can translate and amplify them

It’s more about supporting our human rights to love who we love verses agreeing with it morally

Just love me and celebrate my life with me. It’s okay if you don’t agree but I think love and celebration can exist even if you don’t think it’s right.

To feel comfortable and authentic and real around you.

I want to be able to come to you and talk about everything no matter what and feel safe

An ally is someone who is curious, compassionate and kind

Even though you might not believe what I’m doing is okay with God, you can still hold space for me and others like me. You can protect my right to be who I am...

Fight against the “Don’t Say Gay” bill – if we tackle education, we’ll have a better world for people to grow up as they are and not being excluded right at the beginning...

An ally is someone who really listens

Don’t make us seem like ‘others’... see us as neighbors.

Neighbors.

That sounds familiar.

When a self-righteous religious crowd was trying to trap Jesus thousands of years ago by asking which Jewish law was the most important, he responded with “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: Love your neighbor as yourself. All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.”

Evidently loving our neighbors is like loving God. He wants us to do both, but in the right order.

Which means that I choose to care about honoring God more than fearing how I’m perceived by others.  I read scripture, study it, interpret it, and stay humble and faithful to Him - no matter what.

It also means God first should not disqualify us from loving neighbors.  Loving our neighbors seems to be His sovereign design too. Which is perhaps why Jesus spent so much time addressing favoritism, corruption of power, oppression of the poor, envy, marital faithfulness, dishonesty, jealousy, and judgment of others.

For weeks all these thoughts have been in a constant tumbling cycle in my mind. It’s felt heavy, loud, and constant. I want to join the ‘love is love’ chorus so badly.  It seems so right, so kind, so inclusive. I found myself envying Christians who interpret scripture addressing homosexuality as culturally specific and not universally relevant anymore. That would erase all personal tension. I’d share all the love-is-love posts with joy.

But I can’t do that. Not authentically.

I resolved long ago that God has ultimate Moral Authority – not me. And if I interpret scriptures – God’s words to us – to mean that His sovereign design is man and woman, I can’t betray Him. Not because of some cult-like, blind allegiance to an unkind, power-hungry God. No. But because I believe God to be holy and infallible, incapable of betrayal, injustice, or abuse (as scriptures teach). So I can trust that this design is not against us humankind but for us. Easily said from a straight person, I know.

It's confusing and hard. I’ve often used words as way to feel my way through the dark spaces of complex feelings and topics, but I’ve sat down to process these feelings a few times and the words just wouldn’t flow.

Then something struck me in mid-June.

Perhaps God was zipping my lip because maybe June wasn’t for my wrestling out loud. Maybe June was precisely when I shouldn’t use my voice to process my feelings publicly.  Maybe June was for listening and being curious. For loving my LGBTQ neighbors and centering their voices.

So I got quiet and listened. I read Pride posts with an open heart, recognized bravery, admired vulnerability, and respected passion turned into action. I engaged privately with a few folks, offering my ear and heart.

Sure enough, when the calendar’s page turned to July, I sat down to write, and words came.

I’m sharing these imperfect words with the world for two reasons:

First, for my LGBTQ neighbors. To be clear, it is not hard to love my LGBTQ friends - I love doing life together! I’m so grateful that you’d call me friend. To the broader group of LGBTQ neighbors who may stumble upon this, I want you to hear the inner thoughts of someone who, upon first appearance, might seem unsafe and ‘the enemy’, but who genuinely cares about your well-being. Perhaps it’s too hard to reconcile my beliefs with my offer of love. I don’t blame you. For many, understandably, that discredits me as an ally. But if you’re looking for someone who will defend your dignity, who will listen and empathize, who will share tears, I’m here. Maybe you have more allies, albeit surprising ones, than you thought. I hope so.

Second, for my faith brothers and sisters. I think a lot of Christians share my biblical interpretations and feel like I do during Pride month. They want to be an ally and faithful to God the best they can. We see others interpret scriptures differently, or abandon their biblical theology all together for the sake of being more loving and inclusive, while we grieve that the Author of the most radical love is so severely misunderstood and mistrusted. We are unapologetic for desperately grasping for His love and being obedient to His way, while refusing to view LGBTQ neighbors as enemies in ideological/political wars.

So what now?

Well, if Love Wins on a massive scale, it simply can’t be in the absence of disagreement or tension. We’re all too many and too complicated.

Love wins, then, when we scoot up our chairs to the table of community, perhaps feeling uncomfortable and afraid of our differences, of being unliked, misunderstood or rejected. Love wins when we’re determined to protect and respect the dignity of one another. Love wins when we each personally show up curious, humble, empathetic, honest, and kind – as neighbors. Realistically, we can’t do that wounded. But when our healing journey enables us, we scoot up to each other with courage, grace, gritty love, and a lot of hope.

On June 9th, Missy saw me sitting back tentatively, wanting to engage, second-guessing my role, while sitting alone at my dining room table. So she (figuratively) wrapped her foot around my chair leg and pulled me closer to the table of community and connection.  

You are an ally, she whispered in my ear. You matter here. Keep listening. Keep leaning in. Keep wrestling. Stay at the table.

If you’ve been worried, rejected, or confused, pull up a seat.

You’re in good company.
Let’s let love win.