Pastor Harris, Just Beating the Gay Out

To the rest of America from North Carolina: I’m by the explain to y’all that not everyone in North Carolina agrees with pastor Harris about just beating the gay out of kids. 

Unlike Jodie Brunstetter, the wife of Republican North Carolina state senator Peter Brunstetter, not all of us believe that the only way to save the Caucasians (we’re in danger? I didn’t know) requires the repression of equal rights for the LGBT community.

Unlike Pastor Sean Harris of Fayetteville– my Army-Brat-approved hometown– we don’t all advocate beating the gay out of our children.

It’s important, The Rest of America, that you understand that many of us consider ourselves native North Carolinians– and we don’t believe this way.

Just once– JUST ONCE– I would like to see my hometown/state in the news for something not related to crime and/or redneck bigots*. Which requires the law-abiding non-redneck bigot voice to speak louder.

*Note: Not all rednecks are bigots; not all bigots are rednecks. Conversely, redneck bigots exist outside of the South. Case in point, Pastor Harris was born in Massachusetts, so damnit, NC doesn’t have to take all the blame for him.

My Loud Voice:
I grew up in Fayetteville. My childhood home located less than a quarter mile from this church; I spent 5 years at the public school next door to Berean Baptist. I’ve watched it grow from a smallish church with some modular buildings to a mega church looming on a busy corner. The proximity of this place to my childhood memories makes me feel queasy and unsettled.

Dear Pastor Harris,

I spent most of last night listening to your sermons–many of them, not just the notorious one; I read all of your blog posts. I read your church’s Articles of Faith, and your Constitution (though navigating to it today proves difficult, glad I PDFed that sucker).

I found very little reason and logic, but one bit of good advice:— that a person has to explore the before and after of an event to truly understand the context. Of course, you were talking about verses in the bible, and I’m talking about your personal world view.

I understand the over-reach of political correctness is often a minefield. But–really, the blind guy doesn’t care, because he didn’t the spit coming? Gah, this made me feel icky.

He [referring to Jesus] pulls him [the blind man] out of town. He is not trying to have a big show of healing people in this town. He’s going to take care of this man, grabs him, leads him out of town, spits on his eyes. Gross! Right?

Moreover, if you are blind, it is not quite as big a deal.

It is not like you saw it coming.

Because of my time spent in your head— and listening to your words, reading your thoughts–provided me with a most unsettling glimpse– I’m 100% confident that not there wasn’t one iota hyperbole in the April 29th sermon. And I listened to the whole thing– all 54 minutes. A few times.

Even now I’m listening,— helps me focus– and I must say, dude, your micro-expressions and body language conflict with the words coming out of your mouth. In those moments when you start speaking of homosexuality, I find myself hearing the vehement hatred in your words, in your tone of voice, and watching the exponential increase of hand-flapping. That level of…is it self-directed hatred Pastor Harris? It’s hard, I imagine, to feel such loathing without personal experience.

I have complete faith in your belief that a parent can beat the gay out of their children. Who was it that beat the gay out of you?

Was it the pastor that “dealt” with you so very long ago?

I must admit, Pastor Harris, that when considering everything in context, that I find myself thinking that yes, you drove around Fayetteville lusting (your words, not mine)– but that it wasn’t females stirring your holy pole.

You, Sir, both moron and bigot, embody the perfect example of the supporters of this marriage amendment. I sat astonished at your bastardization of statistical facts and the absurdity fueling your political rhetoric. Around the 36 minute mark when you manage to draw a correlation between the closure of NC textile mills with the rampant procreation in the Malaysia? All for support of why we cannot allow gay marriage– because there will be no more children to be exploited in textile factories?

Oh my– priceless.

Though I am a bit perplexed at how you are registering folks (see minute 3:38, “not too late. you can get a voter registration form this morning”) to vote and maintaining your tax exempt provisions?

I’m also confused why y’all refer to yourselves as a corporation, yet don’t pay property taxes?

But, back to the point at hand:

A large part of me would like very much to “squash like a cockroach”– oh, you SO weren’t joking when you said that— the straight out of you. However, I payed a teeny tiny bit of attention during biology– so I understand that’s just an excuse for violence against something that disgusts me. That disgust, by the way– all for you.

Of course, you seem to believe that a person chooses homosexuality. According to you, this fact stems from the studies (not cited) of differing sexual preference between identical twins. Because if homosexuality were genetic, then both twins would be gay. Um, you do understand that for the first 6 weeks of gestation all fetuses are females, right? And while identical twins start from the same egg, that there is a lot of really complicated stuff that happens afterwards? Otherwise we’d all be born with tails?

Just saying.

You spend some time talking about the sin of stealing and correlating that to homosexuality. Because they are ALL SINS.

I admit I’m pretty hazy on many parts of the bible– something for which I thank my parents for every single day– but I’m reasonably certain that lying is one of those sin things y’all talk about.

On Wednesday, Harris said he regrets his choice of words and doesn’t advocate hitting children.

So, Pastor Harris, if you don’t support hitting children could you address the verbiage in your church’s constitution and articles of faith?

Morals without Faith: Secular Parenting

One of the supposed challenges of raising children without a specific religious doctrine* is how does one instill morals without faith. Lately, just in this country, with all of the rampant hate, violence, (yes, Tim Profitt, I chose you as my violence example. You douchenozzle.), and me first/mine only attitudes, I’m absolutely certain that faithfulness is not at all equal to the existence of one’s moral code. I consider myself to have a strong moral code and I’m also secular. But some of the “faithed” seem to interpret my lack of praying to be equivalent to a lack of morals, such that without God (whichever way you say it) my secular value system is necessarily sub-par. I don’t know, my very secular morale code/values happens to include feeling that those that have need to pony up and help those that have not. It makes me sick to my stomach to think of any child, but especially an American child, without enough food to eat, a safe place to live, and no access to healthcare and an education. Beyond America, any day that I spend more than 15 minutes thinking about what happens to children in other countries, say the Congo, I spend the night awake and tearful. I have never said, “it’s not my kid and don’t care what happens to them–let their poor, uneducated parents find a way to feed them.” In my opinion, my secular values are more than par when compared to people that can both think and say that out loud.

**I’m in no way downing all pf the religious faithful. Of those that I know personally, more of you are kind than not. But some of the stuff I hear come out of the mouths of people who claim to walk the way of Jesus is in direct opposition to anything the man said or did. So I am suggesting that there are great number of folks in our country right now (cough Glenn, cough Beck) who seem to think themselves morally superior to me just because they check “yes” in a religion box. For those folks, perhaps re-reading the main ideological points detailed in whatever book you deem holy should be the first item on your seasonal to-do list. Less time spent on the passages about homosexuality and shellfish and more time spent on the charitable giving passages would be super.**

My job as a parent is to take these impressionable little play doh brains–brains full of their own self interests, by the way–and turn them into caring, responsible, productive adults. Notice the order I listed those traits. I want my kids to be caring adults, regardless of whatever religious choices they make for themselves. I want them to care about others because a human being–regardless of housing/employment/race/gender/sexuality–has value, and not because a bigger donation gets you priority alumni seating in the afterlife.

I want them to value the person, not the brand-name. I want them to value the life, not the profit. And woe unto either of them should they grow up to resemble some of the people I’ve heard from lately. If I were the mother of Hank Greenberg, I would fall on my own dull sword as a failure to society. Of course, the result of my deep, internal need to not raise grubby-fisted, money-hungry, self-serving adults is the absolute terror that I will somehow end up with one despite my efforts. Seriously, fruits of my womb–read this now–because if either of you do resemble any of the aforementioned (or anyone like them), mama’s going to be a bitch to deal with on Thanksgiving and Christmas. And Mondays. Probably Tuesdays and Wednesdays, too.

Imagine my heartfelt pain when Zach said something along the lines of “I don’t believe in church. I believe in TOYS”. That pain wasn’t because he didn’t believe in church– no one should believe anything about a building–but rather the apparent failure of my anti-over-consumption campaign.

However, before I replaced every one of his consignment-sale purchased toy arsenal with sticks and dirt, I realized that this kind of self absorption is completely normal. For a 4 year old. Yes, he’s at that age where everything he sees is a must-have-it-right-this-very-second. I thought that by limiting his exposure to most of the popular tv (and all commercials) would circumvent this attitude. (And personally, I simply don’t want to know what new, shiny crap is being marketed to the play-doh-brained. I have only the vaguest idea of what the hell a zhu zhu pet is, and I’d like to keep it that way.) But the kid has friends and associates, and those friends and associates have stuff that is different from his stuff. They have rules that are different from his rules. I repeat “I don’t care, Jane/John Doe isn’t my kid” to Zach with the same regularity as I say “no, don’t touch/climb/eat that” to Elliot.

A few weeks ago, Zach referred to our neighborhood homeless man (who rides a bike, complete with potted ficus tree and is obviously suffering from an un-medicated mental illness) as a lazy bum. Where/how/who he heard that phrase from, in that context, is anyone’s guess. I will tell you that I spent the following weeks deprogramming it from his brain. I’m not concerned with constant PC, but making a judgment based solely on someone’s appearance is a big no-no in this house.

I want them to be appreciative and thankful for what they have, and not be that kid always whining for more. Seriously, I really, really want that. Like now. I also want Zach to understand that while he’s whining about eating chicken…“AGAIN MOM”…that there are children in our city that didn’t get to eat all day. I want him to own that knowledge for himself. And when Elliot is older, he’s going to own it, too.

I realized that I have all of these wants for them and only a few years before starting the peer pressure versus parent battle. I need to strike a solid foundation. How am I supposed to teach about excess when I have two November-borne children? Two birthdays followed by Christmas? The tidal surge of toys is just ridiculous. Even if they each only got one (which they don’t) it’s too damn much.

Which leads me right to my first lesson for Mr. Zach. Both boys unhesitatingly chose a family trip on an Amtrak train to a city that also had underground trains (subways) over a big birthday bash with their friends. The fact that the Birthday Train departs a few weeks early and corresponds with the Rally to Restore Sanity is a coincidence. Okay, so it totally isn’t– but we were going to DC in November, I just moved the trip up a few weeks. A family trip win/win type situation, in my humble opinion. What this means, in theory, for my Small People is no birthday party with their friends, thus no presents from friends. (I’m still not seeing the lose for me in this plan.) I say in theory, because I also don’t want them (and by them, I mean Zach, since Elliot doesn’t have a clue yet) to be sad on their actual birthdays that there was no balloon and sugar free-for-all with other Small People Friends and Associates. This dilemma was the price I was willing to pay to see Jon Stewart.

So here is my plan. If I actually get a party-with-friends together in the next week (snort), instead of gifts they are both going to ask for a donation to be sent to a charity of their choice. I will, of course, narrow those choices down to 2 or 3, whose purpose can kind of be appreciated by wee minds. Please don’t be concerned, there will still be plenty of gifts–they have family and parents, too. The Year of No Presents will not be a therapy conversation ten years from now.

Hopefully, I will follow that lesson up a few weeks later on Thanksgiving by taking Zach to a shelter to help serve food to the less fortunate, aka the homeless and hungry. (Moooommmm…can you find me a shelter for us to volunteer, pretty please?)

Tomorrow, he, Elliot, and I are going to sort through the vast wasteland of toys and, keeping only the favorites and second favorites, send the rest off to charity. The favorites will stay in play, the second favorites are going on the bench to be rotated in later. Less is more, people. We are going to participate with other moral, yet secular friends, and adopt a family or two from the Orange County Holiday Program for Christmas.

Will he “get it”? Probably not in 2010, but every new lesson parents teach to their kids begins with a confused, but hopefully acquiescent, Small Person. Potty training is a lovely example of this type of confusion. But since it’s important that those that are able learn to pee/poo in the potty, we dive in and convince the Small People that it’s the right thing to do, thus saith the Mommy. Well, it’s important to me that my kids know that those that are able need help those that are not. Period. End of story.

So far Zach agrees with Phase 1 of my plan for no-toys at a potential friend-party. I suspect that his little brain will mold all sorts of questions that are hard for me to answer both honestly and age-appropriately, but I do my best. For the record, I asked Elliot, too. His response was, “more pita chips and play in water table” so I guess he’s cool. I certainly don’t want to ruin the magic of childhood for my children, but childhood is also that magical time when they start to learn how to be an adult. As it turns out, not having raised self-serving, profit driven, apathetic assholes is a big parenting goal for me.