We took a little mini-spring break vacation to Arizona a few days ago.  While we were in the Phoenix area we did a bit of shopping.  In one of the stores we got into a conversation with the sales staff, who asked where we were from and such.  We mentioned we were tourists from Minnesota and, without a lot more prompting, one of the sales people said: "You know, not everyone in Arizona hates immigrants and gays."

It was an interesting remark, coming pretty-much out of the blue. In talking about "hating" immigrants the clerk was clearly referring to the Arizona "show me your papers" legislation,  which allows police to check for evidence of citizenship on "reasonable suspicion" that a person is in the U.S. illegally and which seems to some to be targeted at particular ethnic groups.

The reference to "hating" gays plainly came from recent the Arizona bill, vetoed by Governor Brewer, which would have permitted persons to refuse services to gays and lesbians if motivated by deeply-held religious beliefs.

Now I doubt that anyone who supported either piece of legislation would say that they hate immigrants or gays, and certainly most aren't haters. Mostly people would say that they support the pieces of legislation because they want to uphold the rule of law when it comes to immigration or uphold religious liberty when it comes to denying to assist those engaged in public activities which are considered immoral (such as same-sex weddings).

But there is some truth in the viceral notion that sometimes behind those arguments there is something more personal, something like what they used to say in the old Westerns:  "We don't like your kind around here."  If that is not what is truly going on, it is certainly easy for those who are the targets to the legislation to perceive that kind of motivation.

As Catholics we have experienced that kind of thinking.  In Scott Berg's 2013 biography of Woodrow Wilson there is a reference to one of the most-controversial things Wilson did after being elected president in 1912-- he appointed a Catholic to his Cabinet.  Catholics were then second-class citizens-- a "kind" not liked in the highest levels of society and suspect as different, "other", not part of the WASP's who ran the country. John Kennedy's election in 1960-- not really that long ago-- marked the end of that kind of public thinking, although it still lingers in some quarters.

Our history should put us in the forefront of those thinking about how to hold true to our moral compass without coming across as haters.  Maybe one of the ways is to be very careful about using religion as a way to deny a "kind" of people access to public resources that are otherwise available to everyone.  In Boston and New York places used to have signs saying: "No Irish allowed." We might ask ourselves whether our attitudes towards gays and lesbians or immigrants, for example, would permit one of those words to be substituted for the word "Irish" in the old signs.

Christianity is not a religion of exclusion.  Our goal is to reach out to everyone, to bring everyone into the City of God.  Associating with those on the margins of acceptance-- whether ethnically or on the basis of sexual orientation or for some other reason-- should be our habit, as it was Jesus' habit.

If we have to apologize for the legislation we support or the public postions we take by saying: "We don't hate... (fill in the blank)"  we probably should re-think whether we are supporting the right thing.