When Pride Turns Violent
A Messy Meditation for Midweek
It had been a long, glacial winter in Philadelphia and I was looking forward to a sunny, sultry Pride Weekend. As a parish priest, I only get five Sundays off a year, and so I hoard them for the warm, summer months, beginning with Pride Weekend, which means I don’t take a weekend off for the first five months of the the year. People forget that even priests need to recharge their batteries just like anyone else. By June 1st, I’m desperately in need of a holiday. I love being a priest, but sometimes it’s nice to take off the collar, relax and just be one of the boys for a hot second. More importantly, it’s a matter of integrity for me to be able express every part of my identity, including the gay part.
Coming from Chicago where Pride Sunday is always the last Sunday in June, I’ve discovered that I love having it on the first Sunday instead, because it serves as a joyous kick-off to Pride Month rather than a culminating last hurrah to close it out. One of the things I’ve always been grateful for is that I’ve been able to celebrate Pride without worrying for my safety. I mean, sure, I remember earlier Pride Sundays in Chicago when conservative Christian protesters would scream at us and tell us we were miserable sinners going to Hell for our homosexuality. But, let’s face it, they were mere moths buzzing around our indomitable flames to no avail, a minor inconvenience that was relatively easy to ignore.
