Healing and Hope

I do not know when I decided to become an activist—I think I was seduced by the idea of working both within and outside of myself, fighting for love in the open, explosive sense of the verb. Like most activists, I have a very personal, vested interest in my work. I am a queer person and I work to further the rights for and understanding of queer people, specifically at Hope College—a small, Christian, liberal arts college in Holland, MI.  The personal is political to me, in the sense that I cannot engage “the issue” in an academic sense only, and I prefer to classify the topics of gender and sexuality as personal and relational. 

All too often, the struggle for human rights feels like war to me, attacking or defending.  But who am I fighting? I label this person with words like “conservative,” “fundamentalist” or “close-minded.”  Recently, I have been invited to rethink this approach.

The day before I left the Sanctuary Collective discipleship gathering in New York, I lost a friend in a plane crash. 

This was devastating to me, my college community and many others.  As I processed this tragedy, I examined Emma, her life and my friendship with her.  I celebrate Emma’s life for many reasons and desire to acknowledge the incredible gift of hope she gave to me.  My story intersected with hers at a wonderful, opportune moment. 

She worked with me at the school newspaper. We shared a deep care for animal life and politics.  Our conversations were always engaged, as she seemed incapable of the typical niceties of shallow conversing.  Recently, because of my involvement in organizing around queer issues on campus, we began to dialogue about God, the church and sexuality.  Emma was labeled conservative on the issue and had agreed to represent the conservative voice on a panel we were going to have this month. After one particularly open conversation, I went back to my apartment and typed a long email, sharing my story and my peace with God and sexuality.   

Anxiously, I waited for her to respond. Hope closed for Christmas break and she went home. Two days before Christmas, I received an email from her that brought tears to my eyes.  She was a deeply loving person and she, after finally coming face-to-face with what same-sex relationships are and mean, was beginning to deconstruct her cultural, conditioned ideas, letting love win out.   

The day of Emma’s memorial service, I received a call from a Hope administrator, who has been a voice of discouragement for me and others organizing around queer issues.  We speak from time to time, mostly about the school newspaper (because I am an editor). He asked to meet with me about the memorial publication the staff had created.  We met in his office and not ten minutes later, he was reading an email Emma had sent him through tear-glazed eyes.  He kept repeating, “this is why it is so important to set aside our conflicts; this is what it is all about.”

No longer can I put a face on the enemy. The struggle is much deeper than persons and their positions.  As I reread Emma’s email, I remember how she smiled at me, loving me wholly, trying to sort it all out. I am so very grateful for the gift of her presence, in my life and on this campus, and I praise God for the miracle of how our lives intersected and how our stories shaped each other.