Rock, Island, Etc

A couple of Thanksgivings back, the husband and I had a surprise falling out. We had a point of disagreement that was a serious moment in the history of our amiable marriage. You see, his parents wanted us to go to church with them. His aging father wanted to share his family with his friends, and of course, Bryon is very close to his parents. This all sounds quite lovely and innocent, and it would be…

Except his parents go to a church where the pastor passed around a petition against gay marriage. Bryon’s mother and father are quick to tell you that they didn’t sign that petition, but they go to this church. They also didn’t stand up and say anything against the petition either.

Well, the long and short of that is that I wouldn’t go to the service, and Bryon did. And we fought about it, until we agreed that we wouldn’t talk about it again. He loved his parents. I loved my convictions. I define myself by beliefs. He also defines himself by family, and is willing to compromise his beliefs for that. Neither of us will ever be comfortable with how the other one feels about that, but it is now a place we don’t go in our discussions.

I don’t know if this is a good thing or a bad thing. It is a thing. It makes me uncomfortable, and sometimes it makes me cry. I’m sure it does the same for him.

And given that we don’t go into this territory very often, I won’t be talking to him about my current feelings either.

Last weekend Bryon dropped the bombshell that the bad pastor had mentioned some unsavory things about Islam that Bryon’s mother relayed to him. Bryon brought it up in our Bible Study group. I mentioned that I felt vindicated, and that was the end of that.

We spent the last two days with Bryon’s mother. She was feeling down after Neal’s loss, so we thought a couple of days of touring might cheer her up. I got the feeling that she was a bit overwhelmed all the time we were dragging her about. Too much shopping, too much food, too much touring, but she put a good face on, and was game. We arranged to have dinner with our liberal pastor on Friday, because she expressed interest in meeting her.

There were moments of discussing religion during this time. I teach a lot of Muslims, so I thought that it might be prudent to talk about Muslims, and that was a very productive discussion about the differences in religions, and how religious radicalism is a bad thing all around.

Later on in the weekend, thinking that it might be a good idea to prepare Phyllis for a conversation with our liberal pastor, I asked if it was her old pastor or her new that had passed around the petition. She told me that it was her current pastor. One thing led to another, and there we were. She was defending this man, and saying that regardless of what he did, he had said he wasn’t homophobic, and that he would welcome all sinners with love.

Oh my.

Bryon was trying to get me to change the subject, to let it go. I tried to be rational. I tried to keep my tone down, reminded Phyllis we weren’t talking about sin, and that if people said that they weren’t something, they probably were. She was so keen on defending her church choice, she didn’t want to hear what I had to say, or understand how the statement which she no doubt had heard in service had made her sound. I asked her if she thought homosexuality was a sin. She didn’t, but she kept using that same language.

Oh my.

Later, in the restaurant, Bryon told his mother that he was pretty sure that her theology was fine, but he was pretty sure her pastor’s wasn’t. And since I couldn’t get his mother to have a rational discussion with me, I couldn’t get clarity. For the record, I don’t think his mother is a homophobe. I think she’s parroting what she’s heard.

The discussion with our pastor is one she couldn’t follow anyway. She told me so after dinner. We didn’t talk about gay issues. We talked about feminist theology and Kathy’s experiences in seminary. When Phyllis was defending her church, she said something akin to “we don’t all go to school and learn about this and that,” which I don’t think was an intentional slap about being educated. I think she was frustrated.

I had vicious dreams about compromising my principles all night. I left the B&B early this morning to have a good cry on the way to work.

I know I am on an alien planet. My convictions are more important to me than they are to most people. I can’t define myself by family. I have learned how uncomfortable friends can be when I cross the wrong boundaries. I like people, but they don’t want me as close as I want them. I am told this makes me dysfunctional, and since the majority of the world tells me that, I must abide by it and recognize some truth in it.

So what I have are my convictions. For my own part, I like to be clear, honest, and open about them. I see subverting my personal beliefs for tolerance of intolerance as impossible. It stabs when those around me see this as possible.

The problem seems to be that I know a German who knows a Nazi who thinks burning Jews is okay, although they’ve never burned a Jew themselves. And they’re okay with that. And then Bryon knows a German who knows a Nazi, etc, etc. And just because that German is his mother, he’s not willing to say what he really thinks. And one of them thinks I’m out of line, and the other one respects and shares my principles, but can’t bring himself to back them in front of his mother.

This, then, is love of a sort that I don’t understand. When I love people, I want to tell them the truth as I know it. I want them to think and be better to other people. I don’t want to make life easier on them if it means sustaining illusion. Hunh. Maybe this is why I have mostly my convictions. I am a hard person to know.

And to further complicate the issue, this isn’t the way they see it. It’s not cut and dried. They understand the world in a completely different way. Which I can’t see. Even though I have tried. It’s too much of my identity to give up to see it their way. It feels like I’m doing something wrong. I’m stuck.

So, even marriages have boundaries. Bryon and I won’t talk about this. There’s no point. There’s nothing he will change. There’s nothing I will change. It’s really painful that we disagree. It would be easier if I could see a compromise of principles on my part as a rational act I agreed with.

I wrote this down here because it’s eating me alive again. This too will pass.

Catherine