Mohammed too. And Yahweh. Oh, and let’s not forget the
second-tier cast of sky captains: Bahá’u’lláh, Zoroaster and Abraham also think
we suck. Hell, even Buddha wasn’t crazy about the idea of his monks hooking up
for a little post-meditation frolic with each other.
In fact, most of this planet’s religions spent a lot of time
basically shitting all over our existence. I suppose it’s a handy distraction;
having a nice, clear cut case of Heathen Sinners to focus on instead of examining
their own filthy little impulses.
Thank heaven for the few pockets of homo-friendly creeds.
Anglicans seem largely cool with us, and some branches of Hinduism have that
whole ‘third gender’ queer acceptance going on. Wiccans of course don’t care who
you fuck: man, woman, goat, tree… it’s all good.
But that doesn’t make the reality of religious opposition to
homosexuality any less depressing – particularly when the fanatic types spend
so much of their free time lobbying governments to put us heretics in our
proper place.
It also doesn’t make it terribly easy to teach my son to be
accepting of other cultures whose beliefs dictate that his fathers go directly
to hell without passing Go.
Because like it or not, if someone is wearing special
headgear, jewellery, weapons or face masks, it’s very clear that their religion
plays a significant role in their life. And as a gay male, I have no way of
knowing how safe I or my son is involving myself with that person. They’re
telegraphing that their religious beliefs are fervent enough to mean wearing a
big-ass crucifix, a special hat or a full-on beekeeper’s outfit. Does that mean
their fervor extends to most religions’ outright condemnation of LGBT folks?
I know that my own history with evangelical christianity
plays a big role in my protective instincts. In Grade 10, I fell in love with
the beautiful blond boy who sat next to me in art class. He had startling blue
eyes and a slightly bad-boy air – all the things that spell disaster to the
frail heart of a closeted homo. When he asked me to go to youth group with him
one evening, I was ecstatic. I had no idea what to expect, thinking perhaps
we’d be playing floor hockey or maybe watching videos of frying eggs while an
ominous voiceover tells us that this is what our brains look like on drugs.
It was when the first pimply youth broke out in tongues,
spewing equal parts gibberish and saliva while the other kids wailed “Praise
Jesus!” that I realized something was a little off. Three hours later, I had
committed my soul to Christ, renounced sins of the flesh and realized that
hanging on to the new love of my life meant hiding even deeper in the closet
that I had before.
Every Sunday I sat through hour hours of wailing, shouting
and weeping, as the pastor railed against Jews, Catholics and pop music – the
order frequently varied. But the big climax was always the same: The Gays.
The Gays wanted our children. The Gays were actually hosts
for demons. The Gays needed to submit to the punishment of AIDS that Jesus had
so kindly sent in response to a good christian’s prayers.
Now, years later, I can see that it was my own self-hatred
that kept me there. My parents were atheists, but they hated The Gays too. Hell,
I hated The Gays – but most importantly, I hated myself for being one.
Homosexuality has become THE cause that unites all these
fundamentalist religions. Each may believe that the other is destined for
hellfire, but they can all at least agree that The Gays will suffer most of
all.
I’d think it was laughable if it wasn’t still so freakin’
dangerous to me and my ilk.
Recently, a doctor in Michigan refused to care for a newborn
child, because its parents were lesbians. She cited her religion, saying she
had “prayed on it” and that it became clear that the Hippocratic Oath didn’t
apply to the six day old daughter of two women. And, thus far, she has gone
unpunished.
Because it’s her religion.
Three years ago my son attended a daycare where one of the workers
wore several layers of headscarves and other paraphernalia. The woman never
made eye contact with me, would only respond in short sentences to me, and
basically shunned me. At first I thought perhaps this was just her personality,
until I saw her warmth and openness with the other moms and dads. Sure, I felt
like shit, but I also felt deep alarm at how she may treat my son because of
his ‘sinful’ same-sex parents.
The thing is, I really don’t trust religions. None of them. I
think it’s a dangerous way of controlling people, of channeling their
frustrations and fomenting hatreds towards the disenfranchised, of keeping
power in the hands of a few hungry hands. And when I see people making showy
public statements regarding their religion, I automatically check myself, knowing
there’s a pretty solid chance that my community is on their shit list.
And that makes it hard to encourage curiosity and
celebration of other cultures in my son. I’m not sure how to explain to him
that he needs to celebrate their beliefs, when so often those convictions
dictate the oppression of his family.
Or how a seemingly gentle, lovely man named Jesus talked
about loving one’s neighbour and not judging, but apparently added a codicil
advocating the persecution of gays and ownership of semi-automatic weapons
after his death.
Or how women are somehow magically capable of corrupting a
man’s soul if she sits beside him on an airplane or exposes so much as an ankle
Or how men are so intrinsically savage that they will be
inspired to sexually attack said ankle.
The reality is that we LGBTers have made – and are still
making – huge leaps in the quest for acceptance and equality in North America
and other parts of the world. But most countries on this planet still outlaw
our very existence, dealing out harsh punishments and social pariahism if we
venture out from the closet. And religion is the tool used to mete it out.
So sure, son, we need to accept other cultures and creeds –
it’s the right thing to do. But we need to be aware that they’re not always
playing by the same rule book as us, and that even the most banal church lady
may already be visualizing your parents roasting in hades.
But someday, I really hope that things like this are less
rare than they are today:
