Pride

“Pride” has been a confusing concept for me. I was taught both not to have too much of it, thus avoid conceit, and to be filled with it, pleased with myself for academic or practical achievements. Pride goes before destruction, the Bible says, “and a haughty spirit before a fall.” Pride is associated with ego, in my mind, worth watching and tempering.

But, when checking dictionary definitions of “pride”, I was happy to see this one:

Pride: “Confidence and self-respect as expressed by members of a group, typically, one that has been socially marginalized on the basis or their shared identity, culture, and experience.”

I’ve been angered and saddened at the stance and scriptural distortion of Christians who believe LGBTQIA+ individuals should not be fully included into the church. And I’ve long championed these people’s rights to full inclusion, including ministers’ rights to marry them and the people’s right to become ministers themselves. I recently looked forward to honoring them, along with Ed and our daughter and our two grandchildren, when we planned to march in the Seattle Pride parade with Reconciling Ministries, the organization that guides Methodist churches to become Open and Affirming places, welcoming people of all gender identities and sexual preferences.

On Pride Sunday morning, after gathering at Seattle United Methodist Church and singing an uplifting song about unity, we marchers walked a few blocks to the parade’s starting point, where we waited. And waited. And waited. Though the mood was festive, the costumes flamboyant and fun, and the weather sunny and warm, I got tired and antsy and did my share of grumbling, unlike my family, who handled the two and a half hour wait just fine. I almost didn’t believe it when we finally started the march.

But then, oh, what a march it was. We hoisted posters declaring our “Pride + Faith”, signified by our Christian symbol of the fish icon painted with rainbow colors, while we marched, cheered on by jubilant onlookers packed deep on both sides of 4th Avenue, all the way to Seattle Center.

Most watchers were delighted to see us. They cheered, gave us “thumbs up” signs, smiled and blew kisses. It felt so personal, so real, to make eye contact with as many of them as I could. Ed held his heavy Pride poster way up high, shifting it from hand to hand. At one point, a twentiesh woman in the crowd turned to her young friend, and, with a quizzical look on her face, said, “Methodists?”

I didn’t know exactly what she meant, but I did know how it felt to get such loving responses from a group that has been treated like third class citizens for oh so many years and so often been the target of hateful rhetoric and exclusion by people claiming to follow Jesus. Our LGBTQIA+ sisters and brothers treated us with respect, enthusiasm and love, as we proclaimed our beliefs and marched to support them. The people at the parade affirmed and honored me as I affirmed and honored them, for exactly who they and we are—worthy, beloved citizens of God’s kingdom.

Now, that’s Pride. Not self-centered, ego-driven pride. The good kind of Pride, that marches hand in hand with love.

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