LOVE IS
POLITICAL.
CHURCH IS
POLITICAL.
DARING TO
BELIEVE IN
ANYTHING IS
POLITICAL.
DARING TO
BELIEVE THAT
WE’LL EXIST IN
THE FUTURE
IN AMERICA IS
POLITICAL
VIEWPOINT
R. Eric Thomas
A WEDDING ANTHEM OF INCLUSION
“No uNioN is more profouNd thaN marriage, for it
embodies the highest ideals of love, fidelity, devotion, sacrifice
and family,” the pastor said at our wedding ceremony, borrowing
from Justice Anthony Kennedy’s opinion in Obergefell v. Hodges,
the Supreme Court case that made same-sex marriage equal-
ity the law of the land. I realize now that I didn’t understand the
gravity of those words. Everything I did that day was a leap of
faith, but when you’re in a church, all you need is faith, isn’t it?
I’d left the ceremony up to David, my now husband, and bus-
ied myself with the reception, asking one of the singers to per-
form a medley of three Whitney Houston songs. Originally, I’d
suggested that she perform the Bodyguard soundtrack followed
by The Preacher’s Wife and close with Whitney’s version of the
national anthem.
David, bless his heart, actually considered having someone
sing the national anthem at our wedding. Can you imagine, “The
Star-Spangled Banner” at an interracial gay wedding in the heart
of a sanctuary city with attendees ranging from a World War II
vet to the mayor’s black LGBTQ liaison to my cousin Martin,
who did multiple tours in Afghanistan, to our nephew Michael,
a mixed-race boy, then 3 years old, growing up in South Caro-
lina? Child, that place would have looked like a game of whack-
a-mole, with some people standing up, some taking a knee and
some looking around like, “Honey, what is happening in this
place on this day?” Now, that’s church.
Thinking back, I almost wish we had introduced the chaos of
patriotism to the proceedings. It was there already. Love is po-
litical. Church is political. Our friends and family—queer folks,
trans folks, straight folks, white folks, black folks, Latinx folks,
Asian folks, baby boomers, Gen X-ers, millennials, Democrats,
Republicans, socialists, libertarians, Christians, Jews, Buddhists,
Muslims, agnostics, questioners, atheists—are political. This
act—daring to say that we believe in each other—is political.
Daring to believe in anything is political. Daring to believe that
we’ll exist in the future in America is political.
At one point, as is common in the Presbyterian tradition, the
pastor read vows that our community was making to us. “Do all
of you pledge your support and encouragement to the covenant
commitment that Eric and David are making together?”
“We do,” they replied. And if ever there were a time to play
the national anthem, it was then. It was in that place where
something new was being built, where people were united in
one goal, with one voice, where the future was hard to make out
but, yes, was there. We were there. Better and more complicated.
That’s the only country I can survive in.
I don’t live in that country, but every day I vow to get there.
This is why I treasure Whitney’s
“Star-Spangled Banner.” It does
the miraculous in that it finds
something beneath the words
that is true and halcyon and
greater than the failings of the
nation it represents. Hearing
Whitney’s voice, the response is
automatic, soul-deep and cen-
turies-old. It is the awakening
of a piece within you that dares
to be optimistic, a seed that was
placed there by the prayer of an
ancestor. It is never a guarantee.We commonly sing only the
first verse of the anthem. The
singer wants confirmation
about what is seen, what is per-
ceived and what it means. And
that lack of surety is America
most of all. America is never a
set notion; it is an ideal scarred
from battle, perceived through
smoke. The people must cry as
one, “We do!” Is that what pa-
triotism feels like? I feel that I
should know, but patriotism,
too, is always a question. It’s a
concept that has been hijacked
and beaten up, sold out and
ripped to shreds by those who
want it only for its surface rush,
and not its arduous roots. Any-
thing good in this country has
had to be wrestled free.
Some say that’s the beauty of
the nation; that’s the American
Dream. But the tribulations that
tinge every victory in pursuit of
simply being American are the
worst of us. They are a national
shackle. And so it is a shock
when the crisp, bright, free
voice of a black woman elevates
our national anthem from the
dirgelike bottom of rote recita-
tion to something otherworldly,
something spiritual, something
that dares to hope. The fact that
it’s possible is a miracle. It lifts
me up; it transforms the song; it
builds the country from ash.Thomas is the author of Here for
It: Or, How to Save Your Soul in
America, from which this essay
is adapted