T.M. Shannon

Hi everyone,

Well, it’s been a bit of a week, complete with insane tiredness Friday and Saturday – staying up for D&D on Thursday night, a 5am wake up the next morning, then waiting for a bed getting put together will do that to you.

I went to Reel on Friday, but anxiety caught me. I’m nervous doing them, I feel I’m just not up to it. Maybe in future, for now too many things on and my attention is elsewhere. As for line editing? Anxious about that, too.

Reddit has been very addictive for me, I had to throw my phone in my bag at work yesterday just to stay off it, and encounters have been, well, I came across some abject nihilism, had arguments, got the hangries.

So, I just took it off my phone and I’ll use it only on the computer. Ahh, freedom.

Well, time to get to the posting, its Faith/Religion week, so I’m going to go with my favourite Gospel moment, and in my view the very cornerstone of Christianity that is sadly forgotten by some who call themselves Christian.

And yes, I’m aware of the queer animosity to Churches, and the phobic passages of the Bible – the community has been greatly harmed by Christianity, and calls for supporters to do works, not just words.

And these are the sort of topics I plan to get to, it’s not good enough to just talk up the Good News without rigorously addressing the bad news. But bear with me, I’m going for an update here.

But First, Some Context

The Parable of the Good Samaritan is a very powerful lesson, taking a political stance to make its point – and it’s one clearly understood by the Scribe who first asks Jesus what the greatest commandments are.

Its first two characters, a Priest and a Levite (those who also served in the temple), are the most devout people you could imagine who, lived by the Law of Moses worked out in Leviticus, Deuteronomy, and parts of Numbers.

It’s third character isn’t just some guy from Samaria, Samaritans were hated outsiders – they rejected parts of the law, didn’t take Jewish wives, and when the 2nd Temple was being built, got the S.H.I.T.S. after offering help, and the people of Israel saying, “We got this.”

No, not much love lost, but you’ll notice this third example isn’t bound by the same rules as the Priest and Levite – which turns out to be the best thing.

See, living by the Law, the Priest and Levite cannot touch anything that is dead, for they would be unclean and unable to do the duties expected of them (you might see where the parable is going if not familiar with it).

But here’s where I’m going to bring this to modern understanding, new devout servants, and a new hated outsider. And I know many on the Christian side will argue, “You’re politicising Jesus.”

As I said above, it’s already a political example.

But if we don’t look at the Good Samaritan this way, it’s just a nice story about helping someone out. And I’m driving home the point to the “No Hate Like Christian Love” Christians, particularly a mob who invaded Newtown.

So, here goes.

The (Updated) Parable of the Good Samaritan

Things begin in the Gospel of Luke at verse 25, when a Scribe, an expert of temple law, approaches Jesus (courtesy of Catholic Online):

And now a lawyer stood up and, to test Jesus, asked, ‘Master, what must I do to inherit eternal life?’

Jesus said to him, ‘What is written in the Law? What is your reading of it?’

The lawyer replied, ‘You must love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your strength, and with all your mind, and your neighbour as yourself.’

Jesus said to the lawyer, ‘You have answered right, do this and life is yours.’

But the man was anxious to justify himself and said to Jesus, ‘And who is my neighbour?’

Hold up just a second. As the meme of this lesson goes, Jesus didn’t stutter, and judging by the Scribe wanting a limit to his neighbours, he understands Jesus is pressing him for more than what’s comfortable.

Here goes with the modern update:

A man was walking on the road and held up by robbers, who beat him and robbed him of his belongings, and left him half dead.

A Priest walked on the same road, but when he saw the man, he crossed the road and walked by him. A Christian came upon the man and crossed the road and walked by.

A gay man came upon the robbed man and was moved with compassion when he saw him. He checked his vitals, managed to ask his name, called an ambulance, and rode with him to hospital.

He gave the man’s name and then left his own details at the hospital, and said, “Look after him, I’ll be back this evening to see how he is doing.”

Now we return to the Bible, where the answer should be the same as when Jesus’ examples are the Priest, Levite, and Samaritan.

“Which of these three, do you think, proved himself a neighbour to the man who fell into the bandits’ hands?”

The lawyer replied, “The one who showed mercy.”

Jesus said to him, “Go, and do the same yourself.”

How it Would and Should Pan Out

Straight up, a Priest or Christian would not cross the road and leave the robbed man to his fate, and indeed shouldn’t – the call is to help where help is needed, no matter who it is, no matter what they do or believe.

To me, drawing lines before who you consider your neighbour, cutting mercy off the minute you’re uncomfortable with or taught against something, playing tribal in our shared humanity, is a grievous sin.

But there are Church and Christian attitudes against queer people, using political might to keep/make laws persecuting the community, battling against our rights to marry who we love, hitting us over the head with Leviticus and St Paul, with claims God loves us but not us in union.

Like I said, there’s no hate like Christian love. And Christians saying, “I care for your soul,” or “Love the sinner, hate the sin,” is you saying you hate us, and that God hates us.

It’s the beam in the eye, another Jesus lesson. And it flies in the face of showing mercy – accepting people for who they are, commiserating with their struggles, celebrating their dreams, helping their journey, and seeking their good health.

It’s a big tough ask, just as it was for the Scribe, seeing an infinitive neighbour, literally anybody on the planet, and being there for them.

It’s even a greater challenge helping someone who doesn’t believe what you do, doesn’t live by what comes out of the pulpit, especially the parts from the pulpit or the pews that say a thing or three about queer people.

But I believed this as an atheist, being such a universal teaching. We need to be compassionate to EVERYONE, giving up biases, distrusts, and hatreds to work for a common good and for our shared, basic humanity.

I’ll be blunt, the Catholic Church has done a lot of harm to queer people over the ages, it’s caused wars, condoned slavery, persecuted Jews, and then re-persecuted Jews who converted to Christianity (Hi, Torquemada).

But what can Christians do? These are just words, not actions.

Faith Without Works is Dead

Besides there are many queer affirming and accepting Christians out there, formal churches and evangelical gatherings both, there are mainstream Christians in support of the queer community.

But are they doing something or just talking? Are community members aware that small and great works are being done even if not seen? Is there an acceptance of what Christians can do? Can we accept what ability or reach someone may or may not have?

(No, I’m not rousing on the community, and I apologise if it comes across that way).

As a whole, Christianity and Christians have done terrible things to queer people, there are those who suffer religious trauma, those who’ve been through conversion therapy, and the anger is palpable and, in a sense, deserved.

But a recent argument on Reddit that I turned crabby about and took personally, was an impassioned call for reparations and deradicalisation, but came in the midst of demanding to see what good Christians are doing.

Notwithstanding, the Christian role is not to brag about your works, just to get them done, to do charity silently – pretty much don’t be a karma farmer.

I do have a few though.

I’m the queer Ally group at my work, and while I haven’t been called on yet to hear from anyone, thus not doing work yet, I’m ready for it.

I don’t have much of an audience, but I have this blog, my writing, to go deep into queer issues, queer faith, make posts like this drawing attention to hatreds coming in front of what it’s meant to mean being Christian.

No, I don’t have the power to combat the phobia in the faith, I’m already blocked on EWTN chats for being progressive back in 2018. I can’t deradicalise people hell bent on hate – and it pains me to say that.

It’s up to God if this post even gets read, if it’s even enough to say I’m doing works, or if it’d appease that one person on Reddit. I just hope my faith, or the small ways I’ve moved into the community, isn’t dead.

With Hope of a Better Future

With all the queerphobic and especially transphobic nonsense that’s floating around, particularly in world politics, real people being treated like a football filled with “Eww!” I can only dream of a better future right now.

Do companies that get on the Pride bandwagon really care about us, or will they shut up shop when the haters get violent, say nothing against them for fear of a shareholder revolt, there in name only?

Will the queer community ever be fully accepted, loved, treated as equals despite our spectrum of differences? Will allies stand with us against the threat of violence like the Freedom Riders, or just speak from the sidelines?

I really wish we could really understand the value of life, of what we have on this wonderful, amazing planet, and work together for the good of all – but even this seems beyond the “Me, Me, Me” of politics, serving haves at the expense of have nots.

But that’s another story for another time.

We should all help the robbed man no matter our faith or affiliation. We should all look for the robbed man so we can help. We shouldn’t karma farm, of course, but maybe we should all be seen doing it.

Wherever, whatever, however, and whoever you are, even if you’re not someone I’d agree with, peace be with you, and may we love each other as we love ourselves.

T. M.