This essay first appeared in the October 2, 2016 issue of the Durham Herald-Sun. http://www.heraldsun.com/opinion/columnists/amy_laura_hall/
Years ago, I was at a concert downtown to hear a vaguely Christian folk singer. He sang something that, at the time, I thought was profound: “With all the beauty this world has worth knowing, pride won’t get us where we’re going.” I liked this so much I made these words the signature on my email account. I now shake my head at my younger self. Some friends could have written one simple question back at me: “What about the Gay Pride Parade?”
Last week, I participated in two different acts of pride. On Thursday, a group of Duke Divinity students led about a hundred people on a singing vigil through the new cafeteria on West Campus. The women leading the procession carried candles, summoning us to continue one avowal: “We who believe in freedom cannot rest until it comes.” This act was an act of lamentation. We were lamenting racist terror in the U.S., most recently the killing of Keith Scott and Terence Crutcher. We were singing to and with one another, committing to resist the pretense that racist terror is normal. To my mind, African-American women are too infrequently encouraged at Duke to speak loudly and tell other people what to do, where to go, and what to sing. So, this liturgy felt also like an act of courage. Their words, their leadership, looked to me like holy pride – precisely the kind of pride that Duke needs more of if we are going to find beauty in this world and get where we need to be going. Judging by the looks on many faces of people who were working in the new cafeteria, other people were grateful too.
Then, on Saturday, my daughter and I walked with thousands of people through Durham for North Carolina’s 32nd Annual Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual and Transgender Festival Parade, otherwise known as the “Gay Pride Parade.” Noting the convergence of tragedy the same week, some participants carried signs of solidarity against racist terror. Some people started up conversations with members of the Durham Police Department, perhaps in an attempt to understand another human being’s perspective face-to-face. I was struck again by how diverse the group gathered was. I know that sounds cliché. But, truly, the Pride Parade is every bit as diverse as the North Carolina State Fair. There were people in biker gear, people in cowboy boots, teenagers and people who can remember the first parade over three decades ago. There were Christian groups and Jewish groups and at least one proudly affirming atheist (they were carrying a sign proclaiming this). Even within the group from Duke, we were students and friends and faculty – some of us walking in solidarity, others walking out and proud for the first time. Many, many people from across this beautiful state took the day to risk an unabashed celebration of our beloved selves, recognizing that, for that one day, everyone was on the same page on this one single, basic affirmation: We are proud.
I have quoted thirteenth-century theologian Thomas Aquinas in this column before. He wrote many volumes on Christian doctrine and Christian virtue. He did not affirm the holy beauty of people who are Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual, or Transgender. But he did write some very helpful things about a vice usually translated as “Sloth.” For most people, the word “sloth” connotes sitting around on a couch watching bad television and eating take-out pizza for a week. (Which might not actually be a disaster.) But for Thomas Aquinas, sloth is a very particular, moral malady. He suggests sloth is often connected to despair, and that despair often leads to an inability to go about the basic things in life that help us to flourish. Not only does despair indicate a separation from hope in God, but that separation can lead people not to feel like eating, or walking around, or sewing, or dancing, or many of the other practices that are gifts of daily life. Sloth is a kind of “sorrow,” he writes, because we deem “evil and worthless” the goods God has given us. Thomas Aquinas even calls sloth a “mortal sin,” in that sloth involves our being fundamentally separated from the affirmation that God loves us and is with us. Again, “when this state of mind dominates [someone’s] affections,” it can seem as if we will “never be able to rise to any good.”
By my reading of these two events, we were engaging in two different acts of holy pride, reminding one another that our lives are neither “evil” nor “worthless.” On both Thursday and Saturday, people resisted sloth, risking the appearance pridefulness for the sake of a virtue called pride. In some Christian circles, these words will sound like nonsense. I’m willing to risk that.