What Does Pride Mean to Me?: Building Community

What Does Pride Mean to Me?
Building Community

Tim Sharp, member of Central Congregational Church, Topeka, Kansas

As I stood on the stage at the city’s amphitheater, hundreds of eyes were on me. The occasion was the 2nd annual Pride Festival in Ogden, Utah. The winner of the Ogden Pride Poetry Contest had just recited his incredible, moving poem about the Pulse massacre. One month earlier, 49 people had been murdered at a club in Orlando, Fla. Those eyes looking up at me were filled with tears. So were mine. I didn’t know what to tell them, but I had to say something.

I was the president of Ogden Pride. I had led the group in organizing this festival. We had worked long and hard. The city was supportive. Businesses and non-profit groups had set up booths. Several musicians performed for us. It was going very well. Very well, indeed.

Thousands of people were attending the festival. That was amazing. Utah is not a welcoming place for LGBTQ+ people — for political and religious reasons. But here they all were. And here was I. What was I doing here? I had spent most of my life hiding who I was. I had feared being bullied. I had feared being attacked. I had feared being rejected by my family. I had feared being ostracized by my friends. Those fears had kept me quiet. 

Over the years, however, I slowly but surely gained the quiet confidence to come out. I found the courage to tell my family — and they accepted me. I told more people at work — and it was no big deal. Something wonderful happened: I got the support I needed to admit my true feelings. It helped me find my voice.

Because of that, I led my church congregation through the process of becoming Open and Affirming. After a series of study sessions and training sessions, we voted to be welcoming and inclusive to everyone. Soon after that, I joined the board of Ogden Pride, and a couple of years later, I was elected president. Suddenly, I was speaking in public. I was on the TV news. I was quoted in newspaper stories. I was revealing to everyone that I was a gay man. This was all new to me, and it was scary. 

But now, on the stage, it was my time to open up, to allay their fears. These folks lived in a place where being out is hard. Some of our friends were being kicked out of their homes, abandoned by their families, and rejected by their church. We had just heard about dozens of people — who were just like us — being shot and killed when they were just trying to dance. 

Looking out at the crowd, I began: “I’m glad you are here.”

Eyes shifted, all on me.

“The world would be a lesser place without you in it.”

More heads raised up. Smiles broke out all around.

“In case nobody has told you today, I want you to know —” I paused, “I love you.”

From the back of the crowd came a voice: “We love you, too, Tim!”

I nearly dropped the mic. Tears filled my eyes. I paced the stage, grinning from ear to ear. The people laughed, applauded, and hugged one another. If I could have, I would have embraced each and every one of them. We were all facing our fears. Together. We were all stepping outside our comfort zones. Together. We were all loving one another. Together.

Pride, to me, is about building community. Pride isn’t just an annual celebration. It isn’t just rainbow flags and drag queens. It is showing that you care about the person in front of you. It’s saying, “I hear you.” It’s letting them know, “I will do what I can to help you.” Pride happens every day, all year long.