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Exploring the intersection of sacred and secular.
What a Drag
In a moment of tension at the height of the AIDS epidemic in 1985, Freddie Mercury wrote the anthemic I Want to Break Free about his determination to live as his own complicated self.
Nah, I’m kidding.
That’s what I thought too, until I searched for the lyrics and discovered that I Want to Break Free was written by a bassist of all people, Queen’s John Deacon. Despite its ignominious authorship, it really is about breaking free, but it’s an anthem celebrating cultural and personal liberation found in the women’s liberation movement, but written from a male perspective.
Women around the world must have rejoiced that a man finally weighed in on the issue!
The cavalcade of cross-dressing choristers led by Freddie’s iconic stache got the video banned from MTV for being too provocative. I just thought Queen was being weird — because, well, the eighties. I had no idea the song was about women’s liberation or that the video was a Pythonesque jab at prudish pop culture. Though androgyny may have been en vogue on MTV, it was still scandalous that Freddie was gay.
Then again, everything was gay if you were a kid in the eighties.
Breaking Free
I don’t think I was alone in my ignorance that being gay was a thing people actually were. Gay meant dumb, stupid, weird, different; unusual, in reference to anything. We essentially used it as a kid-friendly F-word. And though the word was around me everywhere, I didn’t know I knew a gay person until a few friends came out in college. I remember telling one of the first friends who came out to me that it leaves more girls for me, but I had no clue what a big deal it was for him to reveal what had been so deeply hidden, even from himself.
Looking back, I like to think College Eric was a very different person. We all need space to let go of values and habits that no longer fit. Some are silly — like no longer needing to be the fastest at anything. Others are deeper, shaping who we become over time. I still catch myself falling into old negative patterns, and part of me feels frustrated that I can’t fully rewire my mind — like when I still try to hand my debit card to a cashier. In those moments, I try to offer myself grace. The remnants of our past don’t erase the work it’s taken to grow.
I kind of love that my daughter will one day hear this tale and find it as unrelatable as I do segregation or golf. More, I love that it’s become less of a big deal to advocate for queer equality and inclusion over time. Even so, my daughter will have to unlearn things that I teach her. We all have to learn to navigate the waters of shifting tolerance for people we used to exclude.
Country Roads
The first congregation I served was in Lexington-by-God, South Carolina. I started in 2009, which was the year my brand of Lutheranism, the ELCA, opened the door for queer marriage and queer pastors to get married. Our members were the children and grandchildren of the generation whose names were on the street signs. They had definite feelings about this decision.
If you’ve never lived or spent much time in a rural community, most of what you probably think relates to the myth that rural folks are backwards or intolerant. The truth is that this is part of that culture, but only because it’s part of every culture. What you should know and appreciate is that people who live a long way from town are some of the most innovative people you’ll ever meet. Farmers are smart, and though stubborn country folks are cliché for a reason, rural communities can also be some of the most authentically loving and generous places you’ll ever find if you’re one of them.
They may not like that Bobby likes to wear dresses. They’re definitely going to talk mad trash about it. But let some outsider talk trash about Bobby’s dresses? They’ll find out quick, fast, and in a hurry that, “No one talks bad about Bobby’s dresses but us!” This mix of acceptance and suspicion was on display in my congregation in 2009, as folks there were generally unhappy with The Decision. The council president was particularly flustered one day when he walked up and asked me about the op-ed I wrote for The State Newspaper in favor of ho-mo-sexual marriage.
The way we dealt with this conflict carries an important lesson for us as we continue to grapple with the notion of equality, even now.
Pride & Prejudice
While not thrilled about it, we modeled what Redd Reynolds, an elder member, used to call, “disagreeing agreeably.” We hashed it out over four Sunday School classes and a potluck. Though we managed to do it in a way that was protective of each other’s dignity, there was a moment during the potluck when we came dangerously close to jumping off the rails.
I think the critical moment of acceptance came from Ruth Hook. She was ninety-six years old and a little salty about being only the second-oldest living member. After a challenging conversation with lots of opinions about them and those people, she brought the congregation together by saying, “My Bible says we’re supposed to love everybody. I think that means everybody, don’t you?”
All these years later, I sincerely hope — and believe — it does.
Eric Wolf is a local Lutheran pastor, and he’d love to buy you a coffee, tea, or beverage of your choice to tell him about your faith, your ideas about meaning, or whatever “sacred stuff” means to you. Reach him at eric@havenma.org!
