Barefoot Bellringing

On Sunday afternoon I drove into the City to participate in a solidarity walk. It was an event that had been organised through social media and I wasn’t sure what to expect. I contacted the organizer and asked her if it would be appropriate to wear my clerical collar. She told me to do what I felt was right. I appreciated her answer.

So I parked at the Cathedral and walked to the park where we gathered. I had arranged to meet a couple of my friends and was delighted to see them on a chilly but beautifully sunny day. I wandered around looking at the chalk art and the signs that folks had made. I felt disconnected from the group and couldn’t really put my finger on why.

An absolutely gorgeous Drag Queen came up and asked me to hold his sign while he adjusted the seam on his fishnets. I asked about his tattoo and he freely shared the story. A transgender friend of his came up and I admired the flower in her hair. We chatted about the beautiful spring day, the lack of police presence and wondered how far we would walk.

My friends introduced me to several people I had not met before and we all chatted easily about nothing in particular. Then I saw an adorable little girl who was called Willow. She had on a dress and sneakers that flashed. She was running around with her arms out, being an airplane. Then her daddy scooped her up and she flew in his arms. He put her down and she ran to mommy who asked her to lay down on the sidewalk with her so daddy could take a picture. Willow would be about 3 and I suspected this wasn’t her first protest march.

She and her daddy got down to some serious sidewalk colouring, creating a rainbow from the sidewalk stones. I watched in awe.

A while later the speeches started and they were all very different in nature and tone. Some were filled with gratitude, some with anger; some used words that I don’t often use, and yet every one of them was empowering. I began to feel that it was okay for me to be there. As a LGBT ally, as a woman of faith, as a priest in the church. I felt it was appropriate to march alongside this amazing community that I had been accepted into.

We chanted as we marched, and again, one or two of them made me feel uncomfortable, so I didn’t chant them, but I did chant the others. My already sore throat from two full services became raw but I didn’t stop. I didn’t have to talk to anyone when things were over. I would go home, see my husband and likely be ready to wind down for the night.

So we marched, and we chanted. And I made some new friends in the LGBT community. I received some fashion advice, had my rainbow scarf admired and one person said “OMG, I just noticed your collar. Are you a priest?” I said I was and she was pleased. She said “thank you for walking with us”. I said “thank you for welcoming me” and she said she would “friend” me on social media, which I am delighted to say, she has done.

As we marched I thought of my mother, I thought of my daughter and I hoped they would never experience the kind of hate that many of my friends have experienced. By the end of the march we felt we had accomplished something in taking back the right to wear what we choose, to say what we need to say. That no means no and silence does not equal consent. We were mocked by one pocket of men, but otherwise, the march was well received.

I felt empowered by the end of the march and as the festivities continued, I thanked my friends, said goodbye and walked back to my car. Everything around me seemed clearer, sharper, I noticed more than I have before. I threw my shoulders back and walked tall and proudly to my car. Confident in my femininity and proud to be part of the ever-growing community that surrounded me. Proud to be a woman. Proud to be an ally to the LGBT community. Learning more about both while standing up for something.

It was a very good day.