Overnight, it seemed, they discovered that even in small-town Iowa they were outnumbered, isolated and unpopular. Everyone they knew seemed to have a gay relative or friend. Mr. Odgaard’s daughter from his first marriage disavowed her father’s actions on Facebook, and his gay second cousin will not speak to him. Even their own Mennonite congregation put out a statement saying that while their denomination opposes gay marriage, “not every congregation” or Mennonite does. Mrs. Odgaard, 64, the daughter of a Mennonite minister, was devastated.
“It all flipped, so fast,” said Mr. Odgaard, a patrician 70-year-old who favors khakis and boat shoes. “Suddenly, we were in the minority. That was kind of a scary feeling. It makes you wonder where the Christians went.”
They felt like a minority and it was "scary"—bingo! Welcome to the world of LGBTQ Americans, along with numerous other minorities in this country who have the shared experience of feeling vulnerable.
This was an insight by Odgaard that might have yielded some sympathy for the experience of minorities, including the ones the couple banished from their business. They are self-avowed Christians, after all. Although I don't personally identify as Christian anymore, I did spend some time studying the New Testament years ago and do consider myself spiritual on some level today. I tend to believe there's a higher order of some sort but don't discount those who disagree. I’ve also found both goodness and horror in the teachings of all organized religions and, therefore, no home in any one of them. To me, faith is an exercise in kindness, vulnerability and forgiveness—a belief in the humanity of all, whether you agree with them or not. At the same time, I am admittedly sometimes angered by intolerance—despite the inherent contradiction—because I am human and find that anger can be an appropriate if imperfect response.
