On Marriage Equality*

Okay, here’s my last and final post on the marriage issue, until I think of another one.

There is no equality in marriage. None at all. Allow me to explain through personal, anecdotal descriptions that clearly apply to the entire human race.

When Emily and I got married, I was 20 and she was 19. At that time, at least in the nation of California, a woman could marry at age 18 without parental consent, but a man had to be 21. I was able to join the Navy at 19—keeping America safe for democracy—without parental consent, but I had to get a note from my Dad and Mom in order to get married. Not equal.

After our honeymoon, we were driving around the town were I was to be stationed, looking for a place to live. We were broke, having spent half of our $200 fortune on our honeymoon (yes, we had a $100 honeymoon). I suggested to my new bride that we stop and get a Coke to share (so romantic), which in the ancient era of 1972 cost 15 cents at McDonalds. She chastised me for being so reckless with our money, and vetoed my request. No Coke. Not equal.

Years later, I decided to quit my teaching job because I was tired of being broke all the time. I intended to try my hand at business in order to get rich, but did it without talking it through with my wife or (perish the thought!) praying. It all went to smash because I went for it alone. Not equal.

Years after that (after recovering from the smash and actually doing pretty well in business), I suggested that we put in a swimming pool. Emily didn’t think that was a good use of our money. A year later, we were standing in our back yard and she said, “Maybe we should get a swimming pool.” We did. Not equal.

In 2005, during my time as a pastor, two of my no-account pastor buddies claimed that we should gather some folks, drive to Louisiana, and help out with the Hurricane Katrina cleanup effort. I said it was a bad idea, because we would die there. I called my wife to tell her of my friends’ stupid idea, and she started to cry. She said she believed that the Lord wanted me to go. I went, and didn’t die. Not equal.

She gave birth to our two daughters. It looked like pretty hard work to me. I just watched because I am not equipped to have babies. Not equal.

And, on top of all that, at least according to the statistics, I will die first.

That is not only unequal. It’s just plain unfair.

*Humor alert

Peace, Peace, When there is no Peace

I’ve noticed a lot of people on Facebook sporting the red logo with the equal sign in it. It seems to refer to marriage as an equal right for all.

I’ve written on this topic before, confessing my view that marriage is the recognition of a pre-existent, committed relationship and a privilege recognized by a community rather than a right. But that’s another discussion.

The debates I’ve listened to regarding same-sex marriage assume something similar on both sides of the issue: That on the preferred side, everything is okay. Everything is good.

On one side, the argument claims that heterosexual marriage is okay, good, and a proper standard. On the other side, the claim is made that homosexuality is also okay and good, and should be afforded the same rights granted to heterosexuals.

Both sides claim that, in their respective camps, everything is good. Everything is okay.

But what if they’re both wrong?

I argued yesterday that we heteros (what an awful label!) need some rethinking about how really okay we are when it comes to marriage.

This challenge needs to reach across all the arguments. We’re not okay. We’re all a mess. And to say that gay marriage is a good thing strictly on the basis that everything is great and we just need to get a long and let each other have whatever it is that we want is insufficient. The broader culture is prone to that form of resolution, but we who follow Jesus need to dive a little deeper in that pond than everyone else.

If we say that our side is good and the other side is bad, or if we say that everything is good, we may be crying out with the screwball prophets of Jeremiah’s time whom God critiqued by saying, “They have treated the wound of my people carelessly, saying, ‘Peace, peace’, when there is no peace.” (Jeremiah 6:14)

We are a wounded people, gay and straight alike, and we dare not claim peace, peace, when there is no peace. We dare not insist that all is good when all is wounded. We need to treat our wounds with care. To do otherwise is to risk spiritual malpractice.

I have worshipped with gay friends who sought after sacred space that, rather than focusing on being gay, focused on Jesus. I found that I could stand side by side with those friends in my own brokenness and seek the One who heals our wounds, numerous as they are. Maybe all wasn’t good, but we could affirm together that God is good, and together we threw ourselves on his love and forgiveness, and sought for a way that we might live in his grace.

I don’t know how churches and denominations are going to resolve the gay marriage issue (and how gay people might connect in the life of the Christian community), at least in this generation. It may not be seen as such an overwhelming issue a generation later. We’ll have to see.

But in the meantime, if I can’t stand next to my gay brother or sister as a broken child of God, then I probably can’t stand next to anyone, nor can anyone stand next to me. We need a new starting place in this conversation. If we start with rights then the contest will be won by those who wield the greatest power. If we start with everything being okay, then nothing will be okay.

But if we begin as co-humans, broken and wounded, yet made in the image of God, then perhaps the conversation will change.

A Lenten Reflection for February 25, 2013

Be gracious to me, O God, for people trample on me; all day long foes oppress me;
my enemies trample on me all day long, for many fight against me. O Most High,
when I am afraid, I put my trust in you.
In God, whose word I praise, in God I trust; I am not afraid; what can flesh do to me? (Psalm 56:1-4)


Fear is a powerful force. It can cause a person to seek protection, to react in anger, or to run screaming in terror. Fear is not a neutral emotion—it seeks resolution.

So, when I am afraid, I can put my trust in any number of places:

I can trust my political party to defeat all others and preserve what I hold dear.

I can trust my preferred legislators so that the things I own for the sake of protection will never be ripped from my hands (unless they are cold and dead).

I can trust my religious leaders to identify my doctrinal enemies and remind me that heresy is defined as suggesting an idea that I don’t already know.

I can trust my belief system and nail it to my door so that I can measure myself against my enemies of the faith.

I can trust my employer to care for me from the cradle to the grave.

I can trust my government to do the same.

I can trust my army to overpower all others.

I can trust my wise investment strategies to preserve the life to which I am accustomed, even when the enemies of finance rape and pillage the economy.

And then, in the midst of attackers brandishing swords, spears, and arrows, the Psalmist shatters my ill-placed trusts and calls me to a place that is vulnerable and yet free from fear:

In God, whose word I praise, in God I trust; I am not afraid; what can flesh do to me?