Creating a Sanctuary in Times of Fear

Creating a Sanctuary in Times of Fear

“Can’t we just agree to disagree?”

This has been a common thread lately on social media and among conversations with people I know. Certainly, we can. I like vanilla, and you prefer chocolate ice cream. I cheer for my alma mater, and you rally for yours. I think action movies are exhilarating, and you enjoy romantic comedies. Let’s agree to disagree and continue to be close friends.

Yet, it becomes a lot more difficult to find common ground when someone or a group of people are seeking to harm other human beings.

When the person being attacked is you or someone you love and care about, to remain disengaged and not intervene is to be enabling and complicit to the harm caused. When someone is verbally assaulted, threatened, mocked or disadvantaged because of their gender, race, wealth, education, age or sexual orientation, it is devastating.

Distress everywhere

On the night of the election, I was volunteering on my weekly shift at The Trevor Project. Throughout that night and in the days that followed, The Trevor Project reported an increase of 700% in contacts made and a 5,200% increase in crisis conversations about the election. Many LGBTQ youth believed their access to medical care, safety, marital rights and existence was in jeopardy after the election, calling the crisis hotline in search of a reason to live.

On the morning after the election, I received messages from many who were as troubled and grief-stricken as I was. The concern was not about which party won the political races locally, statewide or nationally. Rather, it was about the rhetoric of some who were elected toward marginalized communities, especially against women, people of color, immigrants, the poor and sexual minorities. They were afraid — and justifiably so.

After receiving a message from a local leader of the LGBTQ community, we decided there needed to be a space for people to grieve, express their doubts and fears, and find needed support and hope. As a counselor for The Trevor Project, a life-coach, a pastor and a friend to many uncertain about their future, I was asked to help facilitate a conversation for those who wanted to attend.

Opening a sanctuary

The leadership team of CrossRoads, where I serve as pastor, agreed to open our doors for this election decompression meeting. Other community leaders and members of the board of LGBTQ+ Rolla also volunteered to help formulate a gathering on the following night. We had no idea if a handful of people would even show up, but we believed we needed to rally around those barely hanging on.

We had little time to advertise or prepare for the event, but with a little social media publicity we began to spread the word. We set out chairs in a small circle and hoped some would walk bravely through the door seeking encouragement in the midst of their greatest fears.

The parking lot started to fill, and one by one so did the room of our sanctuary (I don’t use the word “sanctuary” very often to describe our space because it is not your typical looking worship center. Weekly, the room is rearranged with couches, high-top tables and an assortment of chairs to provide a laid-back atmosphere. Our church shares space with a local shelter for the unhomed and we want everyone to feel welcome.). Yet, this night, our space would indeed be a “sanctuary.”

So many people attended that we had to continue to add more chairs. About 45 LGBTQ individuals and their allies entered our sanctuary that night. In a circle with each other, they found a sought-after sanctum and a refuge to share their feelings.

Expanding the circle

We began the night with an open discussion about what was going on inside of us and the feelings rising to the surface. People shared about the tenseness in the bodies and the deep emotions of fear, sorrow and anger that kept them up at night. Some spoke of the uncertainty of remaining in our small, rural town and the possibility of relocating to another state or even moving out of the country.  Many talked about their distress over Project 2025 and the possible implications it would have on their relationships, access to health care and safety.

We cried together as we discussed internal triggers that serve as warning signs to our pain — sleeplessness, stress eating, back and neck pain, just to name a few. We shared ways to distract us from these stressors. Some spoke of getting out in nature or going for a hike, while others found solace in turning to a comedy movie, working puzzles or playing games.

Much of the night was spent valuing each other. We saw one another, listened to each other’s pain and found empathy in knowing we are not alone. There was much discussion about the importance of reaching out, finding your people, staying engaged and observing the wellness of one another. We also recognized the importance of seeking professional help, having a therapist and calling emergency hotlines when needed.

The meeting concluded with an informal time of hugging, laughing and loving each other. People left with a little more hope than when they arrived. They felt valued for who they are. They were wanted, cared for and encouraged to continue to shine like stars in the darkness.

Walking with

The reality is that none of us truly know what the coming years will bring for those who are underprivileged. By birth, I am not among them. I am white, male, relatively affluent, highly educated, religious, heterosexual and cisgender. Yet, I choose to befriend those who are not like me in these ways. I value the shared humanity of others who are different than I am. My life is enriched by women, the poor, the nonreligious, people of color, foreigners and my LGBTQ friends.

Yes, I want to be like Jesus and love all people, but now I am compelled by something far more than religious obedience. The reality is that I am accepted and loved for who I am by a group of people who are unloved by many in their families, other churches and the politically empowered.

I am not afraid for them; I’m afraid with them. I am not sad for them; I am sad with them. I am not going to fight for them; I am going to fight alongside them. Until we live in a world where all are welcome and accepted, I will keep on working toward justice and equity.

As Martin Luther King Jr. famously said in his Letter from Birmingham Jail: “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly.”

For me, the good work of the kingdom of God begins by creating a sanctuary, not as a place where we gather to sing our praise to God in conjunction with our condemnation of the behavior of people. Instead, we cultivate a safe haven when our doors open wide and we say: “Come just as you are. You are accepted and loved here. You are a brilliant light to this world. You are the hope for a brighter future. Shine on!”

Until we welcome others to the point we feel their pain, we will keep them from the sanctuary they need and the sanctuary they provide for us.

The Gospels summarize Jesus’ teaching by the statement, “The kingdom of heaven is at hand,” but this also is his invitation to a kin-dom of taking others by the hand and walking through life together.

Whatever the coming years of political decisions bring to America, who we are will be defined not by the leader in the White House nearly as much as how we choose to lead people into the sanctuary of the church house. When we truly open our doors, we open our hearts, and it is here that salvation is found.

Patrick Wilson has served as a pastor 25 years in Dallas and Austin, Texas, and most recently in in Rolla, Mo., where he now leads a community of faith, CrossRoads. He is a graduate of Baylor University, earned two master’s degrees at Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary and a Doctor of Ministry degree from Logsdon Seminary.