It’s Pride month and if you’ll indulge in the comparison, it feels like Christmas.
Store shelves are stocked with specialty merchandise sold only this time of year. Radio stations play queer classics like Lady Gaga’s “Born This Way” and new anthems like Flamy Grant’s “S.P.R.K.L.” Commercials feature rainbow after rainbow.
A spirit of unmitigated joy is in the air as we continue to revel in the season.
And right on cue, a certain brand of Christian is calling foul on everything. Instead of complaining about Starbucks’ red cups or the “persecution” they feel about “not being allowed” to say Merry Christmas, they are complaining about queer people’s audacity to claim our God-given dignity.
I witnessed this mindset in a recent video by pastor, author and social media influencer Brandan Robertson. In the clip, Robertson engaged in a panel discussion about LGBTQ+ affirmation with Christians from all walks of life– from the most progressive to the most conservative.
Robertson explained how there are two kinds of pride: one that is good and another that is destructive. He argued that queer people exhibit the good kind of pride when we celebrate Pride because we’re reflecting God’s divine creativity within us.
One of the other participants took issue with that comment, indicating that we shouldn’t be proud of anything except for God and being in the likeness of God. To that, Robertson responded, “Queer people are in the likeness of God.” The video cut just as multiple panel participants jumped to comment.
The comments section of this post quickly became a litany of people telling Robertson that he was wrong, perverse, and needed to repent. Even though I usually try to avoid participating in comment sections that have transformed into toxic soapbox forums, I decided to add a comment in support of Robertson’s argument:
“Right. The pride we celebrate in June reminds me of what God says right after Jesus is baptized: ‘This is my son, in whom I am well pleased.’ A modern, Message-ish translation of that verse might as well read. ‘This is my kid, and I’m proud of him.’ That’s the sentiment we’re cultivating during Pride month.”
While that comment encouraged several people, it also ruffled quite a few feathers. As I watched the drama unfold under my comment, I couldn’t help but let my mind wander away from the dialogue itself (some of which I blocked because it became incredibly vulgar and borderline threatening) to how the people making those comments were using the dialogue.
The English language fails us because it is— forgive my bluntness— stupid. English is incredibly imprecise compared to the myriad other languages in the world.
For example, we have one word for “love.” The Greek Christian Testament was written in has three. How, then, are we English speakers to agree on a meaning?
As bell hooks said in her work “All About Love,” when we can’t agree on a definition, a word like “love” simultaneously means nothing and everything. This imprecision makes it easier for messages to be misconstrued and language to be weaponized.
Because we in the LGBTQ+ community call it Pride month, conservatives take the cheapest of cheap shots to say we’re celebrating sin– as if the “seven deadly sins” are listed in the Bible (spoiler: they aren’t).
When they accuse us of committing the sin of pride, they’re actually accusing us of being conceited, selfish, arrogant and grotesque, putting our desires above the needs of others. But it’s much easier to write “Pride is Sin” on a protest sign, so they do that.
But that’s not what we’re celebrating at all. Calling it “Pride Month” communicates a celebration of queer joy, queer shamelessness and queer resilience.
“Pride” is an attempt to capture the feeling you get when you watch someone you love do something that makes them happy– the way your chest swells and your face can’t help but smile.
Pride is that deep satisfaction you get when you see your community making a difference in the world. It’s that immutable desire to celebrate what’s good in your life and in the life of your community–like when David couldn’t help but dance in the street after bringing the Ark of the Covenant (the very presence of God) to his city.
Because “Queer joy, queer shamelessness, queer resiliency, chest-swelling, face-smiling, dancing-to-celebrate-the-good-things-in-my-community Month” doesn’t exactly fit on a t-shirt, we attempt to capture all those sentiments in the tiny word Pride.
Since we can’t agree on what “pride” means, it means everything and nothing all at once.
Semantics aside, this month is about recognizing the innate worth of all of God’s children—no matter how they’re wired—and giving thanks for being able to live into that creative diversity. I give thanks for Pride Month and my queerness because both have allowed me to meet a God much bigger than the tiny god I was introduced to by evangelicalism.
I’ll continue to revel in that divine connection no matter what you think I mean when I say Pride. I know what I mean and until we get to a place culturally where learning from one another is more important than being right, I suppose that will have to be enough.
A bivocational pastor, writer and spiritual director based in Atlanta, Georgia, she currently works as a Spiritual Director at Reclamation Theology. Cawthon-Freels is the author of Reclamation: A Queer Pastor’s Guide to Finding Spiritual Growth in the Passages Used to Harm Us (Nurturing Faith Books), and a contributing correspondent at Good Faith Media.
