I'm a Mets fan.
Well, technically, my parents are Mets fans. My dad could tell you the team's top prospects in the farm system while I'm just excited I finally learned how to pronounce "Cuddyer." (Now, please, take him out of the lineup.) Mostly, I'm a fan of the Mets being in the World Series.
Also, I'm gay.
Usually, that second fact would be irrelevant to the first, but that changed in March, when Billy Bean, who is openly gay and Major League Baseball's ambassador for inclusion, visited the Mets during spring training. In response to having Bean in camp, second baseman Daniel Murphy, who is a Christian, told a reporter that he "disagrees with [Bean's] lifestyle."
The full quote:
I do disagree with the fact that Billy is a homosexual. ... Maybe, as a Christian, that we haven't been as articulate enough in describing what our actual stance is on homosexuality. We love the people. We disagree with the lifestyle. That's the way I would describe it for me. It's the same way that there are aspects of my life that I'm trying to surrender to Christ in my own life. There's a great deal of many things, like my pride. I just think that as a believer trying to articulate it in a way that says just because I disagree with the lifestyle doesn't mean I'm just never going to speak to Billy Bean every time he walks through the door. That's not love. That's not love at all."
When this first happened, I read Murphy's quotes, then leaned back in my chair and let out a deep breath. A minute later, I closed the browser and stopped thinking about Daniel Murphy. Thing is, his viewpoint isn't exactly new. Most people who are LGBT have heard some variation of that sentiment, from someone, somewhere along the way. For me, this conversation happened in college, at the University of Colorado. And I later wrote a book about the experience, spending numerous chapters examining how I felt about religion, and also how religion might feel about me.
Fast-forward eight months, to Murphy hitting a home run in six consecutive postseason games and the 30-year-old almost single-handedly sending the Mets to their first World Series since 2000. And fast-forward another few days, to a friend of mine asking, "You're a Mets fan, right? So how do you feel about rooting for Daniel Murphy?"
My response: "I'm not really struggling with it. He was as respectful as he could be within the framework of his religion -- that's all I can ask."
That was five days ago, and I've been thinking ever since about my response, about how uneasy my response made me, about what I actually do think about rooting for Murphy, and about what that might say about how deeply ingrained homophobia is in our society, and in myself. This response was not fueled by fandom; that would be simple to decode. This is way more complicated than that.
Below are the stages of thinking I have cycled through:
1. If I want Christians to respect me, I must respect their beliefs. At least Murphy appears to be using somewhat respectful language, even if the LGBT community has repeatedly pointed out how harmful the term "lifestyle" is. He's doing the best he can. At least he said he would still speak with Billy Bean, who in this context is a proxy for "every gay person everywhere." I can't just dismiss a guy because I don't agree with his religious beliefs; then I would be no better than Christians (not all, but some) who dismiss me because of my sexuality. I have to rise above and find the common ground on which we can both stand: baseball. Go, Daniel!
2. But wait a second. Why am I so easily accepting of Murphy's use of the term "lifestyle"? If we're building this relationship on mutual respect, despite our differences, and so that we can share our awesome common ground (baseball!), Murphy could at least respect LGBT people enough to use language that doesn't perpetuate prejudice. Unless, of course, perpetuating prejudice is actually the point. (Wait, maybe it is?) Also, why am I so conditioned to tolerate tolerance? Is this some kind of internalized homophobia bubbling to the surface?
I'm basically praising Murphy for articulating prejudice in a less-threatening way. Why is my knee-jerk reaction, Oh, but he said all those dismissive things so nicely. And now that I think about it, "Love the sinner, hate the sin" isn't about making me feel better; it's about making Murphy feel better. So I'll just flip it around on him: "Love Daniel Murphy; hate Daniel Murphy's beliefs on sexuality." Good, now I feel better about watching baseball. Go, Mets!
3. Except, I don't accept the "love the, hate the" construct as a solution -- when it's used on me, or when I'm using it -- because compartmentalizing feels unhealthy. At some point, whatever is siphoned off into that other space will likely either explode or leak into another area. Plus, I've never compartmentalized how I feel about athletes. When athletes say something anti-Semitic, or racist, or sexist, or just generally ignorant, we reject their language. We say, That's wrong, get educated. Still, I'm treating Murphy as distinct in some way that I can't quite name. Am I giving him a pass because his views are fueled by religion, not hate? (Though that's often a thin line.) Christianity is so deeply ingrained in our society that almost everyone grew up absorbing its messaging. And so I instinctively understand Murphy's religion, why he has his worldview, while I don't necessarily think he understands how I arrived at mine. That's not totally his fault.
Wrestling with religion and LGBT is messy, but stick with me here.
Maybe religion just needs more time to evolve, more time for its adherents to work through how they feel about this particular -ism. We worked through plenty of other -isms over the last thousand-plus years, maybe sexuality is next? Is patience the thing? Some Christians are already embracing -- not just tolerating -- the LGBT community. So I can't know if Murphy came to his viewpoint through rigorous testing of ideas across his belief system, or if he repeated the messaging he hears all around him. And honestly, I'm not sure which would be better. Still, this is an important conversation that's bigger than one Mr. Daniel Murphy (even if those six consecutive home runs make him seem superhuman!). But I'm thankful he was willing to say how he felt. He was at least respectful enough to be honest, rather than just nod and say the right thing in public, then slur someone behind closed doors. That's progress. So, yeah: Go, Mets!
4. OK, so I guess I'm still not going to reject Daniel Murphy?
5. Wow, really? I'm not? Think harder.
6. Maybe it's that I'm disappointed. I believe he could dig deeper, further test the ideas upon which he landed before speaking publicly. But I'm also hopeful. Perhaps after the Mets win the World Series, he might be willing to continue engaging on the subject.
7. But then again ...
At any minute, I could be stuck in any of the above stages, peeling back layer after layer, hoping to get to some final conclusion about how I feel. But I do know one thing for certain: Dismissing Daniel Murphy gets us nowhere. So instead, I'll take a deep breath, take a step backward and create room for a respectful conversation. As my friend Wade Davis -- the executive director of the You Can Play Project, not the Kansas City Royals' closer -- told me: "We have to create a safe space to have the conversation or nothing will change. And that's a hard thing to do, because so few people created those spaces for us. But it's the only chance for a shift in consciousness."
Davis added: "If the answer is to hate those who hate you, then how does anyone evolve, because hate doesn't produce love and acceptance."
Preach.
Good luck, Daniel Murphy.