You Don't Know Your Bible!

"You don't know your Bible!" That's what my great-uncle hurled at my sister this week. I think some accusations about not being "Christian enough," oh, and "tearing the family apart" were sprinkled in.

You see, my family is a bit like something you'd see on Maury Povich--except that we throw Bibles at each other instead of chairs. Actually, come to think of it, it's a little more like that nutjob on Wife Swap.

What prompted this recent breakdown in "do unto others," you ask? Well, you see, my sister is getting married this month. And like most brides, she wants to invite people to her wedding that aren't, you know, as*holes. My one cousin's wife is, to put it mildly, a liar and a sh*t starter. She's been cruel to my sister, she's been cruel to my mom, she's been cruel to me, and she's spread lies about my dad. In a family of relatively nice people, she stands out like a black lesbian at a Republican convention. So, naturally, my sister didn't invite her to the wedding.

But that's not how an uber-Christian, puritan, sweep-it-all-under-the-rug-and-smile-for-the-camera kind of family rolls, you know. And so it begins.

Last Sunday, the cousin's wife accosted my mom in the church parking lot, which is kind of funny to begin with since there are about 10 people remaining in the "church" and they're all my family members. (Some might say this fits the definition of a "cult," but I digress.) She asked my mother why she wasn't invited to the wedding. So my mom told her. In detail. And one of the reasons cited was that she had insulted her son (that would be me) by calling him "Aunt Paul" behind his back. Now, personally, I could care less. You don't get out of Small Town America without developing a thick skin. But from the perspective of a mother who has fought long and hard for an understanding of her gay son and his place in the mess that is fundamental Christianity, it's just a shi*ty thing to say.

Then my cousin came up to defend his wife. He claimed she never said it. (She did. There were witnesses.) And then, he said the words. The. Words. "Well, you know, it's pretty clear what the Bible says about homosexuality." Whoa there, biblical scholar. Is it now? You just went from respected medical doctor to a homemade sign-wielding lunatic at a "Yes on Prop 8" rally. It's clear? Clear as mud, perhaps. That, of course, set off my mother. Because, let's face it, what kind of jerk off says that to the deeply religious mother of a gay son?

And then the phone calls began. Like a great wave of faux Christian concern rolling across the plains, the family started calling me. I'm not sure what fake pleasantries they wanted to extend because I haven't been picking up the phone. More importantly, they began calling each other. My sister isn't "Christian enough," "doesn't know her Bible," and is "tearing the family apart." (Funny, I always thought it was the jerks in a family who tore it apart, not the polite bride who just wanted nice people at her wedding. Oh, but we couldn't point out the evil lurking among us. That wouldn't be--wouldn't be--wouldn't be--well, it just wouldn't be Christian, for Pete's sake!)

So I started writing. You see, nobody talks to my mama like that. And since I've never discussed the gay issue with the family, I figured there was no time like the present. I'm now up to about page 20 in my manifesto. Single-spaced. With footnotes. I cover the psychological approaches toward homosexuality, some of the scientific research (genetic/twin research/birth order research/hormonal), I do my best to dissect their religious problems with homosexuality with a ton of help from Dr. Daniel Helminiak's What the Bible Really Says About Homosexuality, and then I write about some of the effects of treating gay people like Satan spawn: higher suicide rates, lack of the most basic civil rights, children torn from loving families because they're not legal "families"... and then add one of my favorite quotations, "Let us be a little humble; let us think that the truth may not perhaps be entirely with us," from Jawaharlal Nehru, the first Prime Minister of India.

Out of respect for my sister, I promised not to send the letter until after the wedding. It's probably better that way. I mean, I wouldn't want them to actually have to think and pretend to be nice at the same time.

In the end, I doubt much will change. They'll continue to be distant, disapproving, crocodile-smiling relatives. Objectively, I realize this is better than burning me alive, as would happen in some cultures. But sometimes I crave sheer honesty: if you're going to hate someone, at least do it up all proper-like with rage and fire and public hangings. I suspect they'll want to talk about the letter, but I won't. That's one reason I'm trying to make it so comprehensive. I spent 18 years begin terrified of their God. I won't entertain another minute of their lunacy. They can have 20-some pages of well-crafted arguments, facts, and scholarly research. If they reject it, well, there's always the literal interpretation of the Good Book to fall back upon... right after they tend to their weekly witch burning.