Yesterday started well enough. Then a supportive Unitarian Universalist minister asked if I had a support system in place for my imminent departure on the Marriage Equality Express Caravan. I said “Sure. Why?”
She said, “Rev. Millspaugh, you are about to become the focus of intense hatred.” I had not thought about the upcoming eight days in those terms, but she may be right. Of course, she was also reminding me of my privilege: I get to choose when to put myself on the line. Our current society puts the lives of gay, lesbian, and bisexual people on the line every day, through social discrimination, religious condemnation, and legal sanction. The same is true for the young children of those couples. I am a straight minister, respected in my community; I am rarely in the position that these families face every day.
It’s difficult to know how it will feel to be on this Caravan. As I write, I’m immersed in wrapping things up for the religious community I serve, the Unitarian Universalist Church of South County. Before I leave for Oakland Sunday afternoon, I need to finish this week’s sermon, write the children’s story, facilitate a leadership workshop, and prepare to meet with the parishioner I’m counseling this evening. The unknown challenges of the Caravan seem far removed from the humble church office where I write.
But come to think about it, the group of riders could just as well start right here. The Caravan is intended to be a celebration of Love—the Love that brought the universe into being and forms the essence of who we are, the Love we celebrate at this religious community every Sunday. The Caravan is simply an extension of the most basic concepts affirmed by most religions, certainly my own: the inherent dignity and worth of every person, the free and responsible search for truth and meaning, and justice, equity, and compassion in human relations—or in simpler language, treating others as we ourselves would be treated.
I can’t know what the journey will hold, but I don't think that divisiveness will be a major part of the experience. I hope the Caravan becomes an opportunity to build bridges. I hope that when people hear about the Caravan, they are inspired. Inspired to open their spirits to the possibility that revelation is not sealed, that human knowledge might be ever-expanding. I hope they are inspired to accept themselves as God made them—whether straight like me, or gay, lesbian, or bisexual. I hope that those who hear of the Caravan are inspired to discern how the sacred, however they understand it, might be leading them in the coming days.
I can’t know what the journey will hold. But I seek to ground and center myself now, knowing that Sunday I will step forward as a risk of faith.
