Nervous for Someone Else's Courage

Monday, June 30, 2025

Happy Monday and Happy Pride, my friends! Today is the last day of Pride Month and at approximately 12am (midnight) tomorrow many of the companies which did support Pride will quietly change their logos and ads back to their regular colors and displays. Yet, the LGBTQIA+ community will continue living our truths even as we face an onslaught of hate and laws targeted against us and our flourishing.

On June 20 and 21, the Old State Saloon and its owner, Mark Fitzpatrick, held the so called “Heterosexual Awesomeness Festival” (also known as and reported by some as the “Hetero Awesome Fest”) across the street from the state capitol in Boise, ID. The event, which drew approximately 50 people and tons of negative publicity, began with claims that LGBTQIA+ people prey on children and ended with Fitzpatrick fighting a singer and at least one person rejoicing that Boise had so few Black residents. Promoted using the standard troupe of queerphobic ideas—including that Pride Month excludes heterosexual people—the event was a mix of white Christian nationalism, white supremacy, and heteronormative idealism. But in all that hate, one singer, Daniel Hamrick, took to the stage, identifying himself as a US Army Ranger, and playing his original song “Boy” about a Transgender boy who is forced into “feminine” activities when he really wants to be rough and tumble with the other boys. Hamrick’s song was cut short when he was physically assaulted by Fitzpatrick and removed from the stage.

I knew that “Heterosexual Awesomeness Festival” was a flop, but I didn’t know about Hamrick’s song or the ensuing fight until a friend sent me the video. As I watched Hamrick introduce himself, put on his Ranger beret to cheers from the crowd, and begin to sing, I got very nervous. I knew that someone had attacked Hamrick and I was nervous for him, even though I wasn’t there and the event was over by the time I watched his performance.

Something about speaking truth in that way and in that space made me panic. Perhaps it was my Midwestern politeness which forces me to not make a scene—that would be mean even to these horrid people—or perhaps it was my aversion to pain knowing that the type of people who would organize something called the “Heterosexual Awesomeness Festival” would not resolve their differences with their words. Whatever it was, I had to turn off the video more than once and finally had to come back to it later to avoid having a panic attack myself.

I’d like to think that in the moment I could muster the courage to speak truth to power and privilege whether like Hamrick’s song or something closer to my own life like Bishop Mariann Budde’s sermon calling President Trump to compassion for immigrants and LGBTQIA+ youth. But then I catch myself questioning if I should wear a “Trans Rights are Human Rights” shirt in certain public places or my “Queer Pastor” shirt when I know I’ll be around nonaffirming clergy. My allyship and activism should not have such basic limits no matter whether I decide to wear the shirt, preach the sermon, or disrupt the event.

Where do you find yourself questioning your allyship or activism? When have you wondered if you could be a better ally or activist?

Let us pray: God, you empower us to speak out against injustice, to hold our leaders accountable, to document the false promises of empire, and to announce liberty to all those held in the bounds of marginalization and oppression. Yet, sometimes we question ourselves and our commitment to the work of allyship and activism. Grant us grace, God, and help us find grace from our friends and colleagues when we struggle to see the impact in the work we do. Cast away the shadow of imposter syndrome and help us rest restoratively and as an act of resistance. We ask this through Jesus, our liberator. Amen.

Blessings on your weeks, my friends! Please let me know if there is anything I can do for you.

Faithfully,

Ben +

Note - It is the practice of many Anglican/Episcopal and some other clergy to include a cross (“+”) before or after their names to indicate a blessing. Traditionally, bishops place the cross before their names and priests place the cross after their names. Though I like the tradition, I associate it with Anglicanism and did not adopt it when I was ordained. However, I’ve learned that some TFAM clergy use the cross in this way and have begun using it when I sign emails and letters.