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A message to my fellow Christians: I hope you're having a super uncomfortable Pride month

I know from painful, hard-earned experience what discomfort can do to change minds.

Nobody should live in fear.

This post was originally published on Substack. You can find it here.

I was a small town, conservative girl when my husband and I relocated to Orlando, Florida. I spent my time going from work to the barn, work to the barn, crying as I brushed my horse's mane.

"I'll never make friends in this town,” I sobbed over the phone with my mom one night.

The next day at work, I met Matt.

He had a brilliant smile and a southern drawl and he sounded like home. He loved horses, too, having spent years doing rodeo. Our friendship was instant and easy.

He visited the barn and taught me how to lasso. I picked up his favorite latte on the way to work. And on our lunch breaks, he would gush all about the love of his life, Jesse. I assumed Jesse was a girl, but that assumption turned out to be wrong. When we all met for lunch one day, I couldn't conceal my shock.

"Oh my GOSH, Matt! You're gay?"


"Um, DUH." He laughed. “Did the cowboy hat throw you off?”

I then remembered he had recently pointed out a bar a few blocks from my house. He mentioned that it was a fun place to go, and I replied that one day we should….but I hadn’t noticed the rainbow details.

"MK, your gay-dar isn't malfunctioning. It's completely nonexistent."

Matt and Jesse told me funny stories about drag contests and bouncers who wore shorty shorts. They insisted I would love Thursday night karaokes, but I assured them it wasn't my scene.

I blushed and giggled a little at the idea. It sounded fun, if not a bit scandalous.

Two people smiling together wearing Pride gear

Pride is not just some party.

Mary Katherine Backstrom

A week or so after that hilarious lunch date, I was driving home from a friend’s house, when I witnessed a young lady get struck by a car. I swerved to the side of the road and jumped out of my vehicle, screaming.

In an instant, people poured out of the bar to assist in the emergency. I barely registered that they were dressed flamboyantly. Their make up didn't strike me as strange. In that moment, we were all scared human beings. Their hearts were racing just like mine.

A drag queen cradled the woman’s head in his hands as I called the police.

“Don’t move, baby girl,” he comforted the woman. “Don’t mess up these pretty braids.”

It was a fraction of a moment that felt like forever. I can still hear her crying for Momma. Thankfully, the club was a block from the hospital. The ambulance arrived in an instant.

When the lights and sirens finally faded, my adrenaline couldn’t handle silence. It was like every one of us had been shaken like soft drinks, and in that moment, we had all cracked open. There were hugs and prayers exchanged between strangers. I remember someone humming a hymn.

Then slowly, one by one, the crowd dispersed. We had to go back to our lives. But not before exchanging a couple of phone numbers, promising to disperse any updates.

I called my friends, Matt and Jesse. I knew the gay community was a close one and I wondered if they had heard any news.

Matt asked around, but didn’t hear much.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “We will know more tomorrow.”

I decided to stay up until then.

The next morning, we all went to breakfast with the drag queens who had started a text thread for updates. We bonded over hash browns and our collective trauma—and after coffee, just some regular life stories.

The woman, we learned, was in critical condition. Two broken legs and a fractured spine. James, who had cradled her head so gently, had probably saved her life. Turns out, he had done so with great intention because not only was he a drag queen, but once a month he returned to his rural hometown to serve as a medic for the volunteer fire department.

A hero. An absolute gem of a human.

Two years later, those same gentle heroes were working their jobs at Pulse when a hate-crazed terrorist made his way through the doors with a semi-automatic rifle. When he first started shooting, some patrons kept dancing.

They thought it was part of the music.

That detail never fails wreck my heart.

They kept dancing.

They just wanted to dance.

I’ll never forget the pit in my stomach as I stared at my phone through the night. Praying each name in that years-long text thread was sleeping at home in their beds. After four sleepless nights, we received confirmation—two of the group had been working. Both had escaped and survived the massacre.

But it wasn’t a happy ending.

An act of hate forever changed their lives, and they were deeply, irreversibly altered. One turned to drugs and the other disappeared. I pray he is still alive, somewhere.

But, yes. They survived. Thank God, I should say.

In an act of terror that killed 49 and hurt scores more, they were the lucky ones.

But when I think of that word...”lucky”.

God, it honestly pisses me off.

That’s how low the bar is, y’all. That’s where we are as a society.

Our gay friends are sometimes just lucky to survive.

How can this be who we are?

If you talk to the LGBTQ community, and I mean really get to know them, you will hear a whole lot of heart breaking versions of what they consider to be “lucky.”

Their parents didn’t disown them. They are lucky.

They haven’t been physically assaulted. Lucky.

They survived a terrorist attack.

Lucky.

I am so deeply over this shit.

Nobody, nobody should live in fear. Nobody should feel lucky that they’ve avoided physical abuse, or emotional abuse, or my Lord, mass murder.

Six short years after the Pulse shooting, what is it going to take?

Look how broken America is. Look what this hate has cost us.

And look at the religious mouthpieces for hate who are becoming more and more emboldened.

Just last week, I posted a meme celebrating the beginning of Pride. It said:

Wishing all the homophobes a SUPER uncomfortable month!

I post it every year and I usually laugh my butt off. It’s too easy to predict all the comments. It’s the same old crap, different mouths, every year.

“Well, that’s not very Christlike.”

“I don't hate anyone! I hate the sin, but I don’t hate the sinner.”

“Ohhhhhh, well who is intolerant now?”

This year, I am truly done laughing. I used to abide this shit, but to be honest, I really can’t do it, anymore. I’ve read and I’ve lived through enough horrible history to understand this terrible truth: Polite hate is the most dangerous kind of hate. It loads the gun, then just backs away quietly.

Christians, please, open your eyes. It’s two thousand and freaking twenty four. I know that you know exactly how this works. You don’t get a pass for good manners.

I won’t let you hide behind pat platitudes when your beliefs give motive to terrorists.

You don’t get to say “it’s the sin that I hate” when that mantra makes bullets for terrorists.

And yah, I guess you could call me intolerant. Smack that sticker on my forehead, I don’t care. For years, I have tolerated far too much from the bigoted backrow Baptists. But the paradox of tolerance states that if a society's practice of tolerance is inclusive of the intolerant…in the end, intolerance will win the day.

And that’s exactly how people die dancing.

So yah, not only do I wish the homophobes reading an incredibly uncomfortable month—I hope this discomfort convicts your soul, and makes you question EVERYTHING. I hope the itch in your spirit spreads to places you can’t bend over to scratch.

I hope enough people walk away from your screeching that you are left alone with your hate. And I hope that hate makes you sick to your stomach when you realize the harm it has caused.

Being gay is not a sin. And Pride is not some party.

It’s a courageous protest that weak minded fearful bigots just can’t comprehend.

It’s authenticity in the face of oppression. Vulnerability in the face of violence.

Pride is the spirit of millions of people who have chosen to dance in the crosshairs.

Growing up in the church, I was frequently told that there are evil forces at work. That these forces were fighting against God’s will, and causing harm to His people. Now, I can see that the threat was true, but it was coming from inside the house.

There are evil, hateful forces at work right now…against the LGBTQ community. Some of those forces look like Saints when they’re hiding behind stained glass.

It’s gonna take a force, equal and opposite in power and passion, to turn the church around. So, if you’re a Christian who has been fence-sitting this issue, it’s time to get off the damn fence.

This June, I beg you to look past the prejudice and the preaching you’ve had crammed down your throat your whole life. Look past your anger, and your pastor’s fear. Look at these beautiful humans. Trying with all their hearts to claim the dignity and love and safety that they, as humans, deserve.

This?

THIS is what you are scared of?

These are the forces of evil?

If that’s what you think then, my friend, you’ve been brainwashed.

I get it. I was brainwashed, too.

But all along, I deep down in my heart, I knew there was something amiss. I couldn’t quite rationalize what I knew of God’s love with the hate I saw coming from church.

For twenty years, I was too afraid to challenge my faith. I thought that it might fall apart.

But that is EXACTLY why I wish all the homophobes a SUPER uncomfortable month. Because I know from painful, hard-earned experience what discomfort can do to change minds.

So, instead of doubling down on your hateful theology…I ask you, non-affirming Christians, in the name of our faith. In the name of God’s love.

Will you please put your weapons down?

Will you consider the lesson that I learned on the street in front of Pulse so many years ago?

Will you feel the heartbeats of your fellow humans, and for once SEE YOURSELF IN THEM?

I beg you to try.

I beg you to grow.

It’s already been far too late.

You can follow Mary Katherine Backstrom on Facebook, Instagram and TikTok.

We're living through an incredibly stressful time with the global pandemic, economic woes, social and political unrest, and internet comments filled with conspiracy theorists, but that doesn't mean we can't keep our sense of humor. In fact, laughter might be the most healing tool we have at the moment.

Pandemic humor can be tricky, of course—there's nothing laughable about widespread illness and death—but it can be done. And it can even be done in a place not generally known for comedy, like a church sanctuary.

Father Nathan Monk, a former priest, shared photos from Redeemer Presbyterian Church in New Orleans on Facebook, which show how the church is creatively handling social distancing guidelines in the pews. The pews that should remain empty to keep people distanced have signs hung with blue painters tape.


The first quotes Jesus: "'I have prepared a place for you...'" then adds, "Just not this pew."

Next, referring to the loaves and fishes story in the Bible: "Jesus sat the 5000 down in rows...But not this one."

"Zacchaeus climbed a sycamore tree to get a better seat...this pew was not it." HA.

And they just get better.

"Abraham was 100 years old when Isaac was born. And if he were here today, he still wouldn't be allowed to sit in this pew." NOT EVEN ABRAHAM, PEOPLE. Find another seat.

Going way back to the Old Testament and Jewish Passover tradition in which people save a seat for Elijah at the Seder feast, one sign was a simple, "Reserved for Elijah only."

How about a fun game of spiritual hide and seek? "'You will find me when you seek me'.... Just not in this pew. Keep seeking."

What if you think of this pew as the forbidden fruit? No touchy. No sitty.

"Remember when the Lord put a 'Flaming Sword' at the entrance of the Garden of Eden, so Adam and Eve couldn't go there? 'Flaming sword' can also be translated blue tape."

And in case that isn't clear, "Jesus said take up my cross, not this pew."

Nailed it. This church managed to keep a light mood and inject some Bible-based humor into an otherwise serious situation, got people to follow public health recommendations, and didn't get preachy or judgey about it. "Fun" and "uplifting" are not generally words people use to describe public health mandates, but that's how people in the comments on Monk's post are describing these pew signs.

Well done, Redeemer Presbyterian. Helping us laugh so we don't cry.

Yesterday evening, just after delivering an address to the nation, President Trump walked across the White House lawn, across Pennsylvania Avenue, and up to St. John's Church, Lafayette Square. Why? To have his picture taken with a Bible.

Not to pray. Not to share any faith-based thoughts. Just the photo op.

That's the simple story, which is silly on its face. But the backdrop makes it all the more surreal.


The president's address just prior included a threat to deploy the military to control rioting, which has taken place in or after some of the nation's protests over police brutality and racial injustice. In his speech, he said he was "an ally of all peaceful protesters."

But in order for the president to take his Bible-holding photos, a large group of peaceful protesters legally assembled near the White House were forced back by police and the National Guard, using tear gas. According to ABC News, some people were beaten with batons and shields, including at least one news photographer. Watch the incident here:

The disconnect between the president's words and what was happening outside the White House gates while he said them is stunning.

Equally stunning is the fact that the church didn't even know he was coming. Gina Gerbasi, a rector at St. Johns, was working in the patio area of the church square to offer water and aid to protesters when she was blindsided by the violent dispersing of the crowd. She wrote on Facebook:

"Friends, I am ok, but I am, frankly shaken. I was at St. John's, Lafayette Square most of the afternoon, with fellow clergy and laypeople - and clergy from some other denominations too. We were passing out water and snacks, and helping the patio area at St. John's, Lafayette square to be a place of respite and peace. All was well - with a few little tense moments - until about 6:15 or so. By then, I had connected with the Black Lives Matter medic team, which was headed by an EMT. Those people were AMAZING. They had been on the patio all day, and thankfully had not had to use much of the eyewash they had made. Around 6:15 or 6:30, the police started really pushing protestors off of H Street (the street between the church and Lafayette Park, and ultimately, the White House. They started using tear gas and folks were running at us for eyewashes or water or wet paper towels. At this point, Julia, one of our seminarians for next year (who is a trauma nurse) and I looked at each other in disbelief. I was coughing, her eyes were watering, and we were trying to help people as the police - in full riot gear - drove people toward us. Julia and her classmates left and I stayed with the BLM folks trying to help people. Suddenly, around 6:30, there was more tear gas, more concussion grenades, and I think I saw someone hit by a rubber bullet - he was grasping his stomach and there was a mark on his shirt. The police in their riot gear were literally walking onto the St. John's, Lafayette Square patio with these metal shields, pushing people off the patio and driving them back. People were running at us as the police advanced toward us from the other side of the patio. We had to try to pick up what we could. The BLM medic folks were obviously well practiced. They picked up boxes and ran. I was so stunned I only got a few water bottles and my spray bottle of eyewash. We were literally DRIVEN OFF of the St. John's, Lafayette Square patio with tear gas and concussion grenades and police in full riot gear. We were pushed back 20 feet, and then eventually - with SO MANY concussion grenades - back to K street. By the time I got back to my car, around 7, I was getting texts from people saying that Trump was outside of St. John's, Lafayette Square. I literally COULD NOT believe it. WE WERE DRIVEN OFF OF THE PATIO AT ST. JOHN'S - a place of peace and respite and medical care throughout the day - SO THAT MAN COULD HAVE A PHOTO OPPORTUNITY IN FRONT OF THE CHURCH!!! PEOPLE WERE HURT SO THAT HE COULD POSE IN FRONT OF THE CHURCH WITH A BIBLE! HE WOULD HAVE HAD TO STEP OVER THE MEDICAL SUPPLIES WE LEFT BEHIND BECAUSE WE WERE BEING TEAR GASSED!!!!

I am deeply shaken. I did not see any protestors throw anything until the tear gas and concussion grenades started, and then it was mostly water bottles. I am shaken, not so much by the taste of tear gas and the bit of a cough I still have, but by the fact that that show of force was for a PHOTO OPPORTUNITY. The patio of St. John's, Lafayette square had been HOLY GROUND today. A place of respite and laughter and water and granola bars and fruit snacks. But that man turned it into a BATTLE GROUND first, and a cheap political stunt second. I am DEEPLY OFFENDED on behalf of every protestor, every Christian, the people of St. John's, Lafayette square, every decent person there, and the BLM medics who stayed with just a single box of supplies and a backpack, even when I got too scared and had to leave. I am ok. But I am now a force to be reckoned with."

In addition, St. John's Church, Lafayette Square posted a statement on social media stating that they were "shocked" by the president's visit and "even more appalled at the violent clearing of Lafayette Square to make the visit possible."

The bishop of the Episcopal Diocese of Washington also issued a statement condemning what took place on and around church grounds, saying that the president's message was "antithetical to the teachings of Jesus and everything our church stand for" and that she was "outraged." She pointed out that the president did not pray when he came to the church, nor did he acknowledge "the agony and sacred worth of people of color in our nation who rightfully demand an end to 400 years of systemic racism and white supremacy in our country."

Speaking on behalf of the Diocese, she added, "In no way do we support the President's incendiary response to a wounded, grieving nation."

Powerful words from leadership of the church President Trump chose to use for optics.

Kanye West is running around recording gospel albums, teaming up with Joel Osteen, and talking about his love of Christ every chance he gets. But his religious fervor is not without criticism. West was called out for holding invitation-only Sunday services, and acting Kanye West-like, rather than Godlike. "He's employed a choir of people who are not only singing his songs, but are all dressed in his apparel. Is Christ really at the center of this gathering?" Tobi Oredein wrote in Premier Christianity magazine.

West discussed the judgements surrounding his faith in a new interview with Vogue, saying it's okay when humans fall short of being godlike. "A lot of times, people try to point out the flaws of people who are Christian. But always remember, Christians are not Christ. We fall short. We all fall short of the glory," West told Vogue. Nobody's perfect. Not even Kanye West.


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West then made a basketball analogy, comparing Jesus to Michael Jordan. "It's like, there's a lot of people with 23 on their backs, but there's only one Jordan. You can't really compare most people with 23 on their backs to Jordan at all," West told Vogue.

West even acknowledged his own shortcomings when it comes to his faith. "I'll tell you what, when I don't apply grace, I don't get the results I'm looking for. Everything must be done with grace. That's one of the things I pray for—and I need to pray for more," he told Vogue.

This isn't the first time West addressed what people think of the way he expresses his beliefs. West alluded to judgement from the Christian community on Jesus is King. In the track "Hands On," West raps, "What have you been hearing from the Christians? / They'll be the first one to judge me / Make it feel like nobody love me."

RELATED: A girl was told she's 'too fat' to wear jean shorts at her church. Her thoughtful response is going viral.

West says religion has changed him. "I thought I had it all figured out," West told Vogue of his old life. But finding God has changed "everything, my ego," he says. He also told Vogue, "The true principles of Christ can and will make you a better person."

West may not be a perfect Christian, but he's trying. He also told Vogue he's making it a point to surround himself with people who are going to raise him up and make him a better Christian. "You can pick your influences," he said. "I sought out to have Bible study, and to be around other Christians who could keep me accountable."

Taking West's Michael Jordan analogy one step further, just because you might never be as good as Michael Jordan doesn't mean you shouldn't play basketball. Striving to hit a standard doesn't mean someone has gotten there, and they shouldn't be judged for that.