When my sweetheart, Todd, and I were searching for a church years ago, we had some spectacular misses when going to several Shawano churches. It took a couple of years before we found Christ Congregation United Church of Christ in neighboring Clintonville.

We passed by the church, and one of the things Todd first noticed was the rainbow banner outside, showing that the church supported the LGBT community. Todd suggested we give it a try, and the rest is history.

Shortly after we became members, the church updated its banner, still going with a rainbow background but stating that “Jesus didn’t reject people; neither do we.” It’s a message that all churches should convey—but not all of them do.

Then this past Sunday rolled around, and I went to church like I usually do, sat in my usual spot and waited for our pastor, Jill Meyer, to step up to the pulpit for her usual weekly announcements, talking about when communion will be, when we’re doing the community meal next and if there are any special services coming up.

However, her first announcement was that the banner in the front of the church had been stolen. She said she was angry about what happened, but she expressed optimism after speaking with the police and learning that some nearby buildings had cameras and might be pointed at our sidewalk, so hopefully the thief could be identified and apprehended.

Then she said something that reminded us that the perpetrator might have been doing more than simply taking a banner. He or she might have been trying to take away our freedom of religion, for believing what we want to believe.

“Somebody wants to silence our voice, and that makes me angry,” our pastor said. “However, they can steal our banner, but they cannot steal our love, and so we will continue to show love and acceptance and equality for everybody, regardless of hate in our community.”

Think about it for a minute. When you read the Bible, you don’t read about Jesus only hanging out with those who were the best dressed or the ones who cloaked their ulterior motives with good deeds. He ministered to lepers, prostitutes, beggars, cripples and others that society had cast out. Our church tries to emulate that work. Christ Congregational has the reputation of being the church with a heart in the heart of Clintonville.

We live in a country where hate forms little pockets, turning the face of America into a teenager’s crater-faced zit gallery. It’s not an appealing look, but it seems lately that anytime someone puts up something with a rainbow, the homophobes bare their fangs and either proclaim it to be the devil’s work or try to suck the color right out of it.

My first thought when Jill told us about the banner theft was not particularly Christ-like. Jesus taught us to turn the other cheek. I, on the other hand, pondered finding the thief and giving him the Stonewall treatment. After all, the LGBT community accomplished quite a bit when they decided they weren’t going to sit idly by when bullies came into their sanctuaries and instead started chucking bricks at the bigots.

Fortunately, cooler heads prevailed. We still had the old banner in storage, and after services, some of us set it back up in front of the church as a temporary solution. We wanted to show that we weren’t going to be silenced, and putting something back up shortly after some troll swiped our message shows we’re willing to get loud when someone tries to use the mute button on the remote control of life.

There were no cheers or boos, just one guy in a convertible who commented that it looked crooked. Hey, it’s not every day that we put banners up. Cut us some slack.

We’re looking at other measures, too. Some of us talked about installing cameras of our own at church, just to make sure no one gets away with stealing our voice in the future. It’s unfortunate that places of worship have to think like this. They should be allowed to sing God’s praise without some tone-deaf idiot claiming we’re songbirding in the devil’s chord.

Our pastor is looking at getting a new banner, noting the old one is a little faded, which has prompted some in the congregation to look at a way to make it theft-proof. One suggested getting a steel sign with our message of loving and accepting all God’s creation, regardless of sexual orientation, disability or any other thing the pious love to discriminate against.

The next step is still to be determined, but one thing is clear. We’re not about to be silenced. The thief might have thought stealing the banner would silence our voice and cause us to cave into pressure. What it did was prompt us to preach our message louder, show it prouder and make it clear that it won’t be destroyed no matter how much hate is hurled our way.

Of course, I don’t think it would hurt us to keep a pile of bricks near the entrance—just in case.