Hope

Paris was attacked. For a brief moment, the world was shocked into prayer and solidarity. Facebook even gave people the option to overlay the French flag on our profile pictures. Everyone had something to say, but no one really knew what to say. For the very briefest moment, there was an appearance of unity.

The moment is over. Refugee camps are set ablaze. Mosques are attacked. There are petitions to the government to refuse refugees. Some state governors are pretending they have the authority to block refugees from their states. Rage is boiling. Religious bigotry is flourishing. Fear is pervasively slinking and slithering. 

This is my country, the land of the free and the home of the brave. This is my country, where we insist that all men are created equal. This is my country; freedom of religion is entrenched. 

Our very foundation is being challenged. I still have hope. We will not turn our backs on these people in need. We will not apply a religious litmus test. We will not isolate, humiliate, and attack them. We will feed the hungry, clothe the naked, and welcome the stranger. We will. 

Daesh wants to drive the narrative. They want to be what you picture when you think about Muslims. That's why they want to be called The Islamic State, as though theirs is the one true iteration of the faith. They preach that Islam cannot exist in the our culture. They encourage tension because that is their story. We hate them. They hate us. That is their story. 

It is not ours. Our story is more powerful. 

As a nation we insist that people are free to worship as they choose, or not at all. We insist that freedom of religion is a fundamental human right. As a nation we welcome Muslims. 

As a Church, we insist that freedom and grace are linked. We know that true Christian evangelism is offered in love. We know that no one is beyond redemption. We know that the call to help people in need is not optional and it doesn't have qualifiers.

"Then he will say to those on his left, ‘Depart from me, you accursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. For I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me no drink, a stranger and you gave me no welcome, naked and you gave me no clothing, ill and in prison, and you did not care for me.’ Then they will answer and say, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or ill or in prison, and not minister to your needs?’ He will answer them, ‘Amen, I say to you, what you did not do for one of these least ones, you did not do for me.’ And these will go off to eternal punishment, but the righteous to eternal life.”" Matthew 25:41-46

All through the gospels Jesus preaches forgiveness. These harsh words stand out. There will be people damned who thought they were doing OK. People who thought they were doing well will go to Hell. And it isn't for those genital sins that dominate every moral discussion. They will be damned for ignoring those in need. They will be damned for not looking for the face of God.

We cannot be confused. Even if we assume the worst possible scenario, and I don't think we should, we still have to help the refugees. We cannot decide we shouldn't help people just because some big, bad, scary monster says we shouldn't. We are not cowards.

Of course we should vet people. And of course we shouldn't ignore the threats from Daesh. They really do hate us. For evidence of how they treat people, look to the Muslims pouring out of Syria. The people looking to us for help. These are people hoping that Daesh lied about us, as they know Daesh lied about them. They already know Daesh is not representing their faith truly. 

We can and do vet refugees. Terrorists wanting entry are better off finding isolated and angry people already here, and they know it. The lies that they are going to get in with the refugees are just another way to wedge Muslims and the West. That's why the passport was planted. That's their story. That's how they grow and thrive. We must not help spread their rage and terror. 

"841 The Church's relationship with the Muslims. "The plan of salvation also includes those who acknowledge the Creator, in the first place amongst whom are the Muslims; these profess to hold the faith of Abraham, and together with us they adore the one, merciful God, mankind's judge on the last day."" Catholic Catechism

We have an obligation as a nation. We have an obligation as Christians. We will help. We have to. We are looking at Christ. 

"Our job is to love others without stopping to inquire whether or not they are worthy." Thomas Merton

Don't Curse at me for Looking for a Hope you think is Hopeless

I am setting aside a half dozen obligations. This post is jumping in line. I can't keep it in my head because it is making me cranky.

Last night one of my friends posted a link to a writer I had never heard of. I read it because I love her. Today, they same post was posted by several more of my friends. It covers painful ground which is universally relevant.  Death. Sickness. Grief. Tim Lawrence wants you to know that "Everything doesn't happen for a reason."

I don't know Tim Lawrence. I didn't look him up. I don't know his history or his credential. And honestly, I can't even confront his main premise directly. When I read it, it rubbed me the wrong way, but I couldn't quite put my finger on why. He curses a lot, which appeals to some people. I think it dulls his point, but that wasn't really what was bothering me. Lots of my favorite people swear like sailors. It was still bothering my memory this morning, so I reread it and the problem smacked me in the face.

He writes from an authoritative perspective. He writes down at me, not to me. He is not offering a hand or a help, he is spitting fire. He preaches with all the sanctimonious arrogance of a televangelist, but what he is preaching?

He wants you to stop comforting people with platitudes. He wants you to stop pretending everything is going to be OK. He wants you to allow your loved ones to grieve.

It all sounds great. What is bothering me isn't the way he describes his knowledge and experience of grief. It's that he won't allow me to describe mine. Apparently, the way I cope is "categorically untrue" and "bullshit" and "needs to be annihilated." He doesn't just want to be allowed to grieve in his way. He is telling me how to grieve too.

That is one problem. Here is the other. He has two categories of people: the grieving and everyone else. That sounds sane, except that no one escapes grief. No one. So, while he is firing the wrath of the grieving against their inadequate comforters, part of his onslaught misses the mark, because there aren't really two categories. There is only one. We have to switch back and forth from one side to the other. He only mentions empathy once, and it is to inform you, dear reader, that his own troubles have made him more empathetic.

It is very angry reading. Apparently, it resonates with a lot of people. I am glad he has found his way. I hope he is surrounded with good friends who give him what he needs to get through every difficulty. What he asks for is acknowledgement of the pain.

The thing is, when someone says, "Everything happens for a reason," maybe they meant you should look backward and figure out why it happened. Maybe. That would be a weird thing to say, and contrary to most experience, but maybe. Or, maybe they meant to help you look forward in hope. Look for the phoenix.

And maybe the friends who tell you to "take responsibility" mean that you screwed up in some awful way and that is why this awful thing happened to you. There are people who believe that. (And lets all go ahead and agree that that is bullshit.) But, maybe by "take responsibility," they meant for the now. They meant you should grieve, because it really is the only way forward.

He gives you permission to let people go when they say these hurtful things. You have to grieve. And since pains are different and people are different, they may not be able to offer empathy. Or sympathy. Or whatever support you need. What you need might be space.

It is OK to walk away from people when you are hurting and what they say makes it worse. Even if they didn't mean to make it worse. You don't have to be strong for them. And you are allowed your anger. If you agree with every word he wrote, that is OK. But don't preach it to me. That is not how I deal with pain. And I am allowed to grieve in my own way too.

Grief can be isolating.

We need to be more generous listeners. We need more empathy. We need to acknowledge that we are all inadequate; we really cannot fix each other.

As I was reading all sorts of scripture verses came to mind. Some of my very favorites seemed relevant:

"Rejoice always.
Pray without ceasing.
In all circumstances give thanks, for this is the will of God for you in Christ Jesus.
Do not quench the Spirit.
Do not despise prophetic utterances.
Test everything; retain what is good." 1 Thessalonians 5:16-21

"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and God of all encouragement, who encourages us in our every affliction, so that we may be able to encourage those who are in any affliction with the encouragement with which we ourselves are encouraged by God. For as Christ’s sufferings overflow to us, so through Christ does our encouragement also overflow." 2 Corinthians 1:3-5

"Blessed are they who mourn,
for they will be comforted." Matthew 5:4

These are the verses I lean on when I am in pain. The verses which keep me from ever feeling sorry for myself. These are the verses that sprang first to mind. These verses are challenging and even painful. I don't know if there is a reason for everything. I do know that God can and will draw goodness out of the most impossible places.

One more verse:

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” Matthew 7:26

Grief. Fear. Abandonment. Loss. Pain. Our Lord understands. He hears. He is here.

Dear Maura

Dear Maura,

I am a the parent of a child who has special needs. I heard you. I read the letter you wrote to me and my tribe. Thank you. From all of us, thank you.

I thought I should write back. You see, this past Sunday I missed Mass again. I don't usually. Honestly. But yesterday it was more than I felt like I could do. It is a catch 22, you know. I need the grace from the sacrament to make it to the sacrament. (Like the coffee catch: I need coffee before I can make coffee.)

Going to Church is not easy. Sometimes it takes all I have to get out of the house. I worry that the seasonal bugs will land my sweetheart in the hospital. I worry that her loud breathing will put her on display. I worry that I will hear hushed disapproval of my less than perfect family. I worry that Sarah's sisters will hear some obnoxious comment about how their sister looks. Or worse, that she will hear. She is four now, and she is more socially aware all the time.

I tell other moms whose kids stand out that a smile is the best defense. I tell them that most of the time you can disarm rude staring with a friendly hello. I tell my friends that most people need a connection; they need a little push to realize that we're just people. Normal people with normal feelings and normal needs. I tell them to pick their battles though, because it is exhausting. I choose to believe the best of most people, but I gotta tell ya, it takes a lot of energy to smile and say hello to someone who hurt me and my child, even accidentally.

Maura, I am looking for you in the pews. I don't want to hide with my eyes glued to the altar. I don't want to pretend it is just me and my immediate family in God's presence. I want to feel the community. I want to be in the community. That is why I am there. We are the body. We are, at times, broken, disjointed, and disoriented. In the Eucharist, we are one. In thanksgiving. In this blessed feast, this sacrifice, this joyful prayer, I am with you.

I've met you. Well, not you but the "we" you represented. We've been welcomed and loved. When you smile at my kids or greet them during the kiss of peace, we don't feel like outsiders. We don't feel excluded. We don't feel like a barely tolerated other. We feel unity. We feel love. When you look at me with a friendly smile or open the door because my hands are full, it is more than a simple gesture. It is a welcome, and I need it. When you invite my family out to lunch with the gang, even if we can't go because it is nap time after all, we feel the embrace of the community. I will try to remember that and to ask for help when I need it. 

I know my child is beautiful. I am glad you can see it too. Your letter was a lifeline, and I needed it. Your words echo Paul's in his letter to the Romans. "Welcome one another, then, as Christ welcomed you, for the glory of God." 

Ten things you can do for your friend who is in the hospital with their child

Being in the hospital can be scary, stressful, exhausting and generally awful. "What can I do?" is the single most common question I am asked when I am in the hospital with Sarah. I am deeply grateful for that. But I will not answer then; I cannot focus on the question. Here are some ideas. 

Ten things you can do for your friend who is in the hospital with their child:

1. Coffee. Hospital coffee is often terrible and terribly expensive. A nice cup of coffee is an easy thrill.

2. Visit. Not everyone can, and certainly no one can every time, but consider coming for a quick visit. A hug goes a really long way. Limit your visit though. Your friend is tired. They probably stayed up too late and were woken up too early. Stress is hard on the body too. It might feel like a waste to drive all that way for a short visit. It isn't. 

3. Food. Hospitals vary, of course. Some are better than others. But even in a hospital with good food, food from the outside will be appreciated. Hospitals and even units within hospitals all have different policies about food, so check. The policy is very likely online. 

4. Money. This is something no one is going to ask for when you ask what they need, but I promise it is almost certainly needed. Even with great insurance, hospitalizations rack up costs. Food, parking, gas- none of these expenses will break the bank in a day. But days and weeks add up very quickly. I can give a pretty accurate budget run down for each of the hospitals we frequent- some are much harder on the bottom line than others! Even if we stay afloat during the hospitalization, it is really hard to catch up when you begin to fall behind on bills. I don't hear people talk about this a lot, but nearly every family I know who has a kid who spends time in the hospital is behind on bills. This is why. We are on the same tight budgets that most people are on; the surprise expenses of an unplanned or extended hospitalization can throw the whole budget for months! If money makes you uncomfortable, or you think it will make your friend uncomfortable, think gas cards or grocery cards. 

5. Take the siblings out. Spoil them. You will have my undying affection if you make my children happy during these times. Kids struggle a lot when their siblings are in the hospital. They get less of their parents when they need more. They are worried. They are scared. They might be feeling like they are less important than their siblings. They even be might be mad. Give them a break from full focus on their sick sibling. 

6. Smile. No one does. People think they should feel sad. The thing is, moods are contagious. Bring a little joy. Sing with them. Laugh with them. Don't force a mood you don't feel, but don't leave all the smiles at the hospital door either. We need them inside. 

7. Tell your friend you are going to pray, and then do it. Join the prayers of your friend for health. Add prayers for your friend. Maybe write out a short prayer. When my friends ask for prayers, I pray right away. I will forget if I put it off. It doesn't take long, and I can pray later too. God listens and he knows what they need, so this does not have to be complicated. Let your friend know you are praying. Just knowing you are thinking of them is helpful in and of itself. If you don't pray, send good thoughts. That's helpful too. 

8. Care packages. Care packages are a tried and true method of making someone feel loved. In a hospital care package send a mix of things they might need and things that will make them happy. This does not have to be a huge expensive thing. Here is a list of things you might consider including: 

• clothing (for the friend or the kid. They are not home. Laundry might be a complication. The kid is probably in a hospital gown, but they will have to go home at some point, and the clothing they came in is probably dirty.) 
•  a real toothbrush and/or razor (we always forget to bring them.)
• books or magazines, for either the patient or the parent
• a toy for the patient
• tea
• a real mug 
• lotion or shampoo samples or lip gloss
• Silk flowers or balloons. Real flowers are allowed on some units, but not most. 
• Music
• chocolate 
• Vitamins
• a coloring book. I suppose you could get one for the kid too. 
• Essential oils are a great choice. Think calming blends. I bring a roller bottle with frankincense and lavender in almond oil. 

You know your friend. Are they silly? Bring a slinky. Are they serious? Bring a journal. When you are planning a package, you might think of it as a sensory escape from the hospital. What would you want to look at or smell or hear or do? 

9. Dinner for the family at home. This simple gesture should not be underestimated. 

10. Offer to sit with the patient while your friend takes a shower or a walk. Or even goes out for a meal with their family. One of the hardest things about being there as a parent is that you feel guilty leaving, even for a minute. You cannot solve this problem for your friend, but you can offer a reprieve. 

Bonus:

Keep asking what you can do. In the moment, your friend might not be able to answer. They'll be tired. Their mind will be occupied. When I am asked, if I answer at all, I am likely to say something inane like, "bring me a fresh towel and a banana." But you know, I heard what you meant to say. I heard, "I love you and I am here." That is huge. That's the biggest thing on the list. 

It can be isolating. You are the village. Just be there. 

The R-word

I can't believe that this still needs to be said: Stop using the word retard. Just stop. No excuses. No explanation. Just. Stop.

I was in an argument online yesterday. I know. You can't judge the world based on internet commentary. Still.

It was a rehashing of the story from 2012, when the tediously predictable Ann Coulter made headlines by calling Obama a retard. John Franklin Stephens, an Olympic competitor who has Down Syndrome, penned a beautiful and loving response. The response went viral. Ann Coulter doubled down, ensuring her continued relevancy. I don't know why this story is making the rounds again. The internet is weird.

I get it. People are sick of being told how to speak. People are frustrated by accusations of bigotry. Some worry that whoever controls language, directs the conversation. Some are just tired of being on the defensive. PC vs. anti-PC language wars have been going on for a long time. The list of embattled words is long and diverse.

This word doesn't belong on the battle list. This is not a battle. This one is easy. The word is offensive.

I've had this argument so often I think I could write an automated Beth responder to have the argument for me.

I had not had the argument in years before last night though. I still see the many, many blog posts imploring people to stop, but they sort of felt dated and irrelevant. No one says that anymore, right? Wrong, apparently.

The names are a distraction. It isn't about Obama. It isn't about Ms. Coulter. It isn't about elevating political discourse above schoolyard taunts. It isn't about politics. It isn't even about rudeness.

When you use this word to insult someone, the insult is a comparison. When you use this word to belittle someone, you are belittling a group of people. The word marginalizes this group of people much more effectively than it insults whomever you intended to insult. And it doesn't matter at all if that is what you meant. 

Mentally retarded used to be a medical diagnosis. It used to describe people with various cognitive impairments. Etymologically, it means to slow down or to delay, and it is used in variant forms in music. As a diagnosis, it described a broad category of symptoms. It is not in use as a medical diagnosis anymore. It has been replaced.

Cognitive impairment describes everything from memory loss to learning disabilities. It does not mean stupid. If we are brutally honest, there is an overlap. Both might be used to mean lower than average intelligence. But stupid always has a negative connotation. Stupid is an insult. And cognitive impairment is a broad term, covering impediments to memory, concentration and learning ability. Insisting that they are synonyms is, well, stupid.

This is the hard part, which is not actually hard at all. A diagnosis should not have a negative connotation. That is an uphill battle advocates fight every day. It is really hard to name some things because the things themselves are not socially acceptable. As soon as the thing is named, the new name becomes an insult. Mentally retarded replaced other words which had deteriorated into pejoratives. The first person to do it probably thinks himself very clever. Every time. Bullies always do.

As a society, we don't handle these things well. We don't like to think about mental illnesses or cognitive impairments. There is a stigma. And it needs to go away.

When the world appropriates a diagnosis for use as an insult, the intended target is not the only target. The insult is the comparison. "You fool. You are stupid. You are just like those children with special needs." Wait, what?

Words have meaning, and that is what that one means.

So, no. This is not just another battle over language. This is not one of those times where an argument is directed by evolving language. There is no argument at stake in defending usage of the term. There is just an affirmation of the stigma associated with cognitive impairments and a growing disapproval.

Maybe there is an element of political correctness after all.

If the fact that the word hurts people doesn't dissuade you from using it, social stigma should. We're judging you, you bully.

Evolving or revolving

I've been reading opinions about marriage. What it is. Why it is. If it is. And I have been examining my own evolution of thought on the subject. Obama evolved. I'm evolving.

When I was in high school, many of my peers asserted that marriage was just a piece of paper. Why would anyone need or even want a governmental stamp of approval on their relationship? It made sense to me. Either you love someone enough to stay with them forever, with or without anyone's approval, or you don't. Ah teenagers.

It was the 90s. So, everyone was talking about civil unions (remember civil unions?) and Don't Ask Don't Tell.  Homosexuality was a big deal in politics, and I was as politically active as any high school student.

Once, the school board in my county held a hearing on homosexuals being bullied. I don't clearly remember the details. It was a hate crime kind of discussion. I attended and argued that bullying must be against the rules and punishable, but if you single out one object of bullying to protect them specifically, you do the community a disservice. Either there are adequate rules in place to protect the students from bullying of any kind, or I am not protected. It was not spur of the moment, I had carefully prepared a speech after thinking through my own thoughts and experiences. I had been bullied, though not targeted for my race or sexuality. If my homosexual friends needed better protection, the whole student population did.

In college, I don't remember why it came up, but it did. I wrote a very short opinion in the school paper which basically asserted what I took to be self evident: homosexual relationships are not the same as heterosexual relationships. Setting aside questions of morality, they are simply different. Whether or not it is moral isn't the right question; gay marriage is impossible.

It wasn't a very nuanced idea. It wasn't clever or original. It was typical college freshman stuff (I wasn't a freshman). It seemed evident to me, so it must be evident to everyone and it must be true. I had thought about it; it wasn't an unconsidered opinion. It was just, as yet, unchallenged.

Also in college, I had a friend who had some concern about his visa status. I didn't know the details, but I told him I'd marry him, if it would help. I did love him, but not romantically. I said that I didn't actually care about the piece of paper from the government anyway. If and when I got married "for real" it'd be in a Church in front of my family- and that is what would make it real. It didn't occur to me then that these ideas I had about marriage were already in conflict.

A good friend pushed back against my ideas. He challenged me to flesh out what I was thinking, why, and what followed. I wished I had spoken to him before putting my writing out for anyone to read. He forced me to admit that my opinions were formed by my experience and my faith, which while good is not universal. He forced me to confront the question: If I don't think a green card marriage is immoral, then on what ground can I object to homosexual marriage? I had already disassociated what the Church does and what the state does in my mind. I had already decided that what the state does had to do with rights and had nothing at all to do with my definition of marriage.

I remember that my opinion that a civil marriage was nearly meaningless deeply offended a good friend whose parents were civilly married. They loved each other and raised a picture perfect American family. I was blessed to meet them and I cherish memories of their generosity and hospitality. They weren't Christian. He wasn't Christian. He hoped one day to marry, civilly, and love and raise a family. That was the first real emotional challenge. Did I really think his parents weren't married? Did I really think he couldn't be married? What an absurd idea. Of course not.

So, I came out of college with both my thoughts and feelings on the subject a little shoved around and unmolded. My ten year college reunion is coming up this fall, so that is how long I have had to mull these thoughts. Maybe they are over-steeped and bitter.

One more personal story: I found out some time after college that my best friend in high school was homosexual. It was startling. Jarring, even. Not that she was homosexual, but that I didn't know. She didn't tell me. We had been very close. She would have heard all my thoughts, sometimes wandery and indirect, sometimes forcefully political. She knew all my crushes and dreams. She knew the silly stuff and the serious stuff. My closest friend was gay, but I didn't know. Did she? Why didn't she tell me? Did she think I couldn't handle it? More troubling, could she have been right?

I certainly had other friends who were gay. You know when you are 16 and you think 30 is old and you make a silly pact to marry someone you love but not romantically if you are both still single at 30? Maybe that isn't a thing. Anyway. My guy was gay and we both knew it. We joked that we'd teach our beautiful children the alphabet with Mozart's alphabet song. I'd like to say that I would have handled the information about my best friend in some loving way, but I don't know. The idea that she may have felt like she had to keep it secret breaks my heart. How awful and isolating. That she might have been right in her fear that sharing would hurt our friendship is a painful possibility.

One of my more recent blunders was to simply assert that the state should get out of the business of marriage altogether. That simplistic view has the appeal of closing the question. But if the state takes no notice of marriage, what about all the legal issues surrounding marriage? Inheritance. Medical choices. Hospital visitation. Children. Immigration. I am married. I don't think very often about the legal benefits. That is the luxury of having them. I do not want to fight for them. I do not want to lose them.

Here is my point: my views are shaped by my faith, my thoughts and my experiences. That is not to say that there aren't truths, but only to note that what seems obvious to one person may seem obviously untrue to another. Indeed, what seems obvious to you today may crack a bit under tomorrow's light.

I was wrong about what the Church teaches about marriage. I was also clueless about the real benefits of civil marriage and by extension I completely missed the boat on state interest in family and family life.

Marriage is hard to define. Per the catechism: "The matrimonial covenant, by which a man and a woman establish between themselves a partnership of the whole of life, is by its nature ordered toward the good of the spouses and the procreation and education of offspring; this covenant between baptized persons has been raised by Christ the Lord to the dignity of a sacrament."

That is a definition I recognize. Sacrament. Covenant. Man and women. Procreation and education. That is a definition I can claim. But, is it a definition I want parsed and pickled and protracted in law? As it is, in the language of the catechism, I understand it. Within the context of faith- my faith- I recognize it. I aspire to living it. But the thing falls apart of you take Christ out of it. The words don't make sense anymore.

I've taken a long way around, but I do understand Christians who insist on Christian-centric language even in law. The alternative remains an enigma, at least to me. I know it exists. I've seen it. But I don't know how to talk about it. I don't have the words.

Love is important, but even if it was definable, it is not a definer. Commitment too. The difference between a loving commitment and a marriage has to do with this other word that I don't really want the government to define, but I also don't want them to ignore: family. When you marry, you change your family. You enter a family as an in-law. You welcome a spouse, to your family. And you form a brand new family.

I hear people groaning about a redefinition and it resonates. The only definition I know how to discuss isn't about two people. It's about a creative love. A sacramental union. It's about a Christian union which is the unbreakable foundation of the family. Children are not a relevant afterthought, they are essential. Marriage is "...by its nature ordered toward the good of the spouses and the procreation and education of offspring..."

And so, when it comes to the heart of the thing, I really only know how to talk to Catholics. Divorce. Birth control. Adultery. These things all conflict with the definition I know.

Here is where I am still floundering: I don't want birth control, divorce and adultery to be illegal. I don't think I know anyone who does. The definition I understand is not a definition I want enshrined in law.

Gay marriage is legal now. I cannot think about it using the same terms that I think about my own marriage, the language of the Catechism. It doesn't make sense, in those terms. Unlike the sins listed, gay marriage is not bad, it is impossible. So how do I understand it? How do I talk about it?

So, I am sympathetic to insistence that this is a redefinition.

I am also sympathetic to insistence that marriage comes with rights, and denying rights based on bedroom behaviors is not OK. The practical concerns that I don't worry about, because I am married to the man I live with, are not a side note. They are a government recognition of a relationship which I chose; recognition which matters in real ways.

I don't know how I would design an answer. I read all the articles and blog posts about how it affects me. I even read Matt Walsh. Not a one of them impressed me. It is not that I am a wishy-washy wonderer. I know what I think marriage is. And I don't want a law about it. And I am not entirely sure where that leaves me.

I still don't want to talk about gay marriage.

And Facebook didn't convince me.

I had an eye opening moment several years ago. I was one of the pro-life activists who would pray outside abortion clinics. (Can I mention abortion without derailing entirely?) Every Saturday, we'd meet for Mass, then go to the clinic and pray. And every Saturday a group of women would meet on the clinic steps. They'd don their identifying orange "clinic escort" t-shirts. They'd laugh and joke most of the time, but when women came, they went into security guard mode.

Sometimes they would jeer at us. We prided ourselves on accepting the attack without anger, but among ourselves, we called them deathscorts.

One day during prayer I realized that they were the same as me. Not just in some hugely general, they-are-people-and-we-should-respect-them kind of way. We were women who had decided to volunteer our Saturday mornings to protect women from violence. They were not my enemy; they were me, but with different formation and experience.

Abortion is depressingly difficult to discuss. I want to scream at my would-be allies sometimes. If your impulse is to scream at scared pregnant women, you yield any moral high ground. You are not loving her. You are not loving her baby. You are venting your personal anger. It is not just a missed target, it is an assault. There are bright lights in the pro-life world worth mentioning, like Abby Johnson. But the rage against women is still depressingly common.

I've derailed.

I have my thoughts and beliefs about marriage but I am not ready to argue. I mean, I guess I am prepared. I love arguing, and I have put a lot of thought and prayer and research into my beliefs. I'm armed to win! But I don't know what winning looks like here.

Some issues cut more deeply than others, and this is one of them. Because disagreeing is not a simple surface disagreement where we can just agree to disagree, it is a fundamental disagreement. When you tell someone that their family is not really a family or their love is not really love, its not a disagreement, its an attack.

When you tell someone that their faith is a trivial thing or that it does not belong in the public arena, the faithful are baffled. What does that even mean? All my beliefs are formed in prayer. (OK. That is an outright lie. But it is an aspiration. I'm working on it.) I don't want God out of my head.

This is my blog. This is my soapbox.

In an argument, you listen for flaws. What mistake will they make? Where is crack in the foundation? It is exciting and not always entirely useless. But what is the goal?

We're not very good at listening across lines.

We have to be attune not just to what we want to say, but what is likely to be heard. We can choose our choirs and preach until all the preachers are foamy mouthed generals and the choirs are armies ready to do battle. That's an option. But it's not a good one.

See that guy over there? He stands for everything which is wrong with the world. He wants to take away my rights because he fundamentally hates me and what I stand for. 

Battle lines are neat. And self-fulfilling. You will hate the guy who hates you and wants to take away everything that matters to you.

We don't need another argument. We need a dialogue. We need to learn to listen generously.