I’m just going to come out and say it right here in the beginning, even though I know it isn’t the popular opinion right now.

I think Ellen is right. 

And before you start to formulate your arguments back, post the memes and excerpts from other writers, and quote James Baldwin to me (Whom I will quote here, too, because I think he is also right!), I’d like to share a story with you. 

Flashback to almost 10 years ago. I was in graduate school, working on my Masters degree in mental health counseling at a conservative Christian based school. I had only recently fully accepted my own sexual identity as a lesbian, and I was in the early stages of coming out – only “cluing in” those who I felt would be safe and would keep my disclosure confidential. At that time, the school was expelling LGBTQ+ students, and I worried incessantly over losing my beloved internship or being dismissed from the program. In fact, I literally checked my email everyday for over a year, with the expectation of bad news. My only solace was found in listening to Brandi Carlile’s albums (yes, I am an original fan!) over my earbuds as I walked on campus, daydreaming about finding a partner one day then going home and writing poetry and love songs on my own guitar. 

As part of a class, one professor showed the documentary “For the Bible Tells Me So.” That documentary had been incredibly affirming to me during a time I needed it most – when I had initially come out to myself and started the long work of reconciling my spirituality with embracing all of me. I felt excited that a professor was going to show it in class and hopeful that it would impact my classmates and perhaps put an end to the repetitive question asked in nearly every course “Dr. So-and-So? What if I have a gay client?”

I leaned forward in my chair, unable to stop grinning as the film started. My friend, and fantastic ally, Tiffany, sat next to me. 

As the stories started to unfold, something happened that I didn’t anticipate. The professor stopped the film and started rebutting the remarks made by the people telling their stories. I thought that maybe he felt compelled to offer a different perspective, but then he continued on stopping and arguing back a more conservative and non-affirming point of view. One of brokenness, sin, and sickness. 

My heart sank. I shouldn’t have been surprised. A friend had taken his classes before and told me his views. I should have known better. But what was I to do?

I decided to do something that scared the shit out of me. I asked him if we could talk. Soon, I found myself seated across from him for what would be many such meetings in his office. We talked about faith, sexuality, and my story. He apologized for his remarks, his interrupting of stories, and his nonunderstanding. Eventually, he became my go to when other professors were even more hateful in rhetoric, using slurs and demeaning language. He later consulted me on how to be more inclusive and how to handle hateful events and climate on campus. He wrote beautiful recommendation letters for me for various positions I applied for, and I included him on a list of folks from my alma mater to send a birth announcement to when our daughter was born – and he was the only one who responded. 

I think of the relationship I formed with this man who had literally taught others to see an integral part of myself as broken and in need of repair. I think of the ways in which he taught me in the classroom – his keen insights and deep love for humanity apparent as he taught us how to counsel well. The ways he told me I taught him – saying to me in one of our final meetings after I presented a special project on working with LGBTQ+ spirituality: “People can’t dismiss you, Charity. You really have faith. You really are who you are. People can’t just dismiss that.”

Did he get it right every time or do I think he probably does now? I don’t know. He certainly didn’t then, and none of us always get it right. What I do know is sitting down and being kind to each other and truly listening led us to a place of deeper understanding and mutual respect. 

Another story – 

I have a family member who has been off and on in his acceptance of my marriage, and thus, my family. When my wife and I started dating, he was all for us being together, but he went down a path of fundamentalism that led to some extremely hurtful words, even going as far as bringing our daughter into it. I won’t repeat what he said here – but the basic idea was that our baby was bound for hell because she has too moms. And it was our fault. 

I have another family member with whom things have been difficult in complex ways that I never know how to navigate despite my training as a therapist. He has also said hurtful things and engaged in hurtful actions that make me feel devalued and unloved.

A few years ago, we had a Christmas Eve dinner at our house, and after years of back and forth and after what seemed to be a heartfelt apology, the first family member and his family came to our home. It seemed like a true reconciliation for a few months, but the fundamentalism came through again, and we made a difficult decision after that. It meant more boundaries. Boundaries that could not be removed without significant change. I’ve also had to set boundaries with the second family member. Around my heart and our family. 

The thing is, we can’t help but see them if we wish to stay engaged with others in the family who have not caused us harm. In order to show up for them, we sometimes share space with people who we do not see or communicate with on a regular basis. Because – we can’t. Still, though our minds come up with arguments and talking points and our hearts pulse with the desire to make our truths known – what comes out is kindness. And when the opportunity and the right time is there to say something, you better believe we do. 

“We can disagree and still love each other unless your disagreement is rooted in my oppression and denial of my humanity and right to exist.” – James Baldwin

Boundaries are good and healthy and necessary. Being in any minority group, minority stress has us on edge as we navigate a society built on the comfort of the in power group. Sometimes, the answer is that we can’t be in any sort of relationship with someone. Sometimes, entering or staying in a relationship with them would be engaging in an unhealthy dynamic where the abused becomes bound to the abuser, and we become emotional masochists in our acceptance of vitriol and harm. (And I don’t think for one minute that Ellen is saying that’s what kindness should look like.)

However. And this is a big however. Healthy boundaries aren’t massive concrete walls around our hearts and our homes. They are fences with gates. Gates meant to keep the wrong people out and allow the right people in. And you know what we can do over fences? 

Speak kindly to our neighbors. Be civil. 

Did you watch “Home Improvement” in the 90s? Do you remember Tim the Tool Man Taylor’s neighbor, Wilson? We never saw much of Wilson, just his floppy hat and his eyes, peeking over the fence at Tim. Yet, some of the show’s most poignant (and hilarious) moments came from scenes with this man. 

Sometimes, healthy boundaries look like that – just a snapshot. Just a hello. And maybe a deeper or longer moment here and there. 

Still, sometimes, even that much isn’t healthy or productive. When someone is directly threatening us, for example, even a conversation over a fence can’t be productive or good. It takes both parties involved for a real connection to take place. 

I am a huge fan of Brené Brown. Her work in shame and vulnerability have informed my practice as a therapist, but even more so in my living as a human being. I’ve been slowly (since shortly after it came out!) working my way through Braving the Wilderness. This is because this book is calling me and challenging me to a deep work I haven’t wanted to engage in. To put my feet behind my words and walk across expanses I am terrified of crossing. However, it’s becoming more and more clear that it is what is necessary and good.

Brené asserts we are all connected. She isn’t the only one who has taught that. It’s a common thread in many worldviews and from various authors and speakers. And it sounds like a nice thought until you dig in. We are all connected.

Me, you, Brené, my former professor, Brandi Carlile, Ellen, George W.

The Kurdish and Syrian people fleeing violence, the Turkish soldiers, Border agents, the imprisoned migrants.

You get the idea.

All of us. ALL – full stop. Connected. 

Shit.

It’s a statement full of terror and hope, potential for goodness and pain. Truth. Right in our faces. Even when we are so lonely we can’t feel the connection. Even when we bury ourselves into our own likenesses. We are all connected.

James Baldwin also said this about love:

“Love does not begin and end the way we seem to think it does. Love is a battle, love is a war; love is a growing up.” 

I believe that it is fully possible to form productive relationships and even friendships with people very different – and perhaps even perceived enemies. I believe that it’s not only possible, but necessary if we are to move forward. I believe in reconciliation, and that it may look like sitting next to each other at a football game – especially in the beginning stages. Reconciliation is a process, and kindness is the catalyst. 

Love may very well be a battle – a war even. We have to fight to love one another sometimes. That doesn’t mean sentimental love – it means the decision to honor each other’s humanity and therefore, inherent worth. In this way, love is a growing up – and a growing outward.  Expansion. 

“Love takes off masks that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within.” 

Another uncomfortable truth bomb from – yep – James Baldwin

This quote is so rich, it deserves a thesis. And if you’ve written a thesis on it, I want to read it!

So, here’s what this quote brings up for me – as far as it relates to what I am saying here. I get it. We want to protect that part of ourselves behind the mask. I get the risk. I get the human nature to withdraw. I even get that it’s necessary sometimes (again – healthy boundaries). But when it gets down to it, to our true selves – I deeply believe that the same spirit that is within my being is also the same spirit within the being of others. Maybe that sounds “New Age” or hokey. But I don’t think so. It’s in the African concept of Ubuntu: “I am because we are.” It’s in yogic expressions of “Namaste” – “The divine in me sees/honors the divine in you.” It’s in the blessing of Shalom, the translation of “Islam” into the root word: peace, and the Christian theological concepts like the Trinity and the Body of Christ. It’s in Christian stories of Nicodemus meeting Jesus under the cover of darkness and Christ himself replacing a Roman soldier’s ear after Peter cut it off in the garden of Gethsemane. It is recognizing the unity behind all diversity – we are all different and yet the same in celebration of our differences and sameness.

Diversity is real. Divides are the masks – the illusion. The lie. 

The moment we refuse to see this truth is the moment we diminish ourselves. Relationship changes us and moves us closer to each other. 

One such story of love removing the mask of division is found in the Christian story of St. Paul. Paul is not my favorite. I’m going to make that clear. I find some problematic issues with him – but I also find a story of beauty and hope, though it’s also ugly and painful. Paul persecuted – no let’s be real – massacred Christians. That’s right. The person whose writings are most prominent in the New Testament committed atrocities against the earliest followers of Jesus. Yet on the road to Damascus, Paul (then known as Saul) was blinded by a great light, bringing his moment of truth – of changing and becoming new. It was a life changing moment where he went from killing people he felt were different and inferior to joining them and becoming a leader among them. 

Can you imagine the skepticism? “Oh my god! Don’t know you know who he is? Didn’t you see what happened to Stephen?” 

I wonder what other lights have met other Sauls on the road to Damascus. How small some of them might have been, and how much kindness and connection have played a role. I’ve seen many stories recently which have demonstrated this. Like Megan Phelps Roper and other members of her family who left Westboro Baptist Church as the result of connection with their perceived enemy. 

There’s another story I listened to recently. This time through a fantastic documentary series available on Netflix called “The Story of Us” (I encourage you to watch this series.) One episode featured something that made me so uncomfortable I fidgeted incessantly while watching it. 

Morgan Freeman traveled to Rwanda to see the reconciliatory work post genocide. My heart felt like it was being crushed as I listened to one woman’s story of her husband and one of her children being slaughtered. She and another child survived, hiding in a different location. Then, a man who sat next to her told his story. As he talked, it became clear that he was one of the villagers that forced her family off of a cliff to fall to their deaths. Now, they live as neighbors in a village purposed to bring them together as well as others affected by the genocide.

Yes, you read that right. 

Here’s the thing – I can read and repeat Brené Brown all day. I can tell my daughter (and I do) that there isn’t enough kindness in the world, so we need to be kind. I can sing along to the top of my lungs to songs like “Crowded Table” by The Highwomen (mercy) and repeatedly pronounce that “love wins.”

But if that kindness and mercy and love stops short of the radical, uncomfortable, unhinged kind of extension… it’s just a clanging cymbal – calling us to an activism of division and protest. 

But, lord, if we could get it. We might just could be called to a love centered activism that has the power to create a table of welcome and connection and change the world.

I’m challenged to believe in and live out radical kindness, decency, belonging, even and especially when it scares me.

It’s the kind of world I wish for my children and for us all. Where love leads the way.