I was watching the news, and there they were, spouting their hateful venom at a group of high school students on what should be one of the happiest days of their lives. They waved the signs with righteous indignation, as if anointed by God Himself. They didn’t care that these are kids, kids who just want to celebrate the end of high school and the beginning of their journey into adulthood.
And really now, “God Hates You”?
Their signs were aimed at the gay youth of the school, who formed a vocal group to protect the interests of gay students, and they were there in some warped support of a teacher who resigned rather than be sanctioned for sharing his views on homosexuality with his students, insinuating that if they even hung out with gays, they were sinners.
Not that they’ll listen to me, but I’ve got news for this group of traveling bigots: God doesn’t hate anyone. He might hate the things that we do, but he doesn’t hate anyone. And who are you to speak for God? How presumptuous and arrogant are you to think that you know the mind and the heart of the Almighty? How Christian do you think that really is?
I feel really bad for the kids whose graduation you ruined. But I feel a whole lot more sorry for you. I feel bad that you can’t recognize the complete hypocrisy of what you’re doing in the name of Whom you supposedly love and worship.
Are gays sinners? Of course they are. Everyone is a sinner. Everyone. I’m a sinner, you’re a sinner, Mother Theresa probably dropped a few in her lifetime. Think Christ would be walking a picket line, screaming “My Dad HATES you!”?
I highly doubt it. And I’m sure you can’t fathom it. Because, after all, Christ protected a prostitute. “Let he who is without sin…” and all that. You know he wouldn’t be screaming at these kids, who are only there to say goodbye to their youth and hello to their future.
It’s a shame you couldn’t be there to congratulate them for making it that far instead of showing them the ugliness that they may be facing when they take those first steps in Real Life.
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