Category Archives: LGBT theology

‘Representing’ at the Shower of Stoles Project

 

I have the honor of speaking  at the Shower of Stoles project as part of All Saints Episcopal Church’s celebration of Pride Week. October 11, 2017, 6:30-8 p.m.

I first sent my stole to the Shower of Stoles in the 90’s.  For those of you unfamiliar with the project, it is a collection of stoles (you know, those things preachers wear over their robes that often follow the liturgical season) donated by lesbians and gay men who sought ordination or were already ordained but remained closeted. Each stole comes with a brief story of the one who donated. Many are anonymous. Viewing the kaleidoscope of colors and the uniqueness of each story is sometimes sad, sometimes triumphant, always moving.

The struggle for LGBT folks to serve in the church is long, arduous… and,frankly, not over yet.  We’ve made a lot of progress and these stoles represent the lives and work, the persistence and the resistance of many faithful folks who experienced a call to ministry contrary to their church’s teaching.

I am one of those people. I lived through a time when I had to find a way to make sense of this blasted  called and what it meant for me to be faithful. This week I get to tell the story of my stole, my call, my struggle to be faithful, and the grace I splash around in.

I’m focusing on resistance in my talk because the times we live in require much of us. These stoles remind us of  the power of resistance. Sharing the stories inspires us for the work of justice. And, perhaps most of all, these stoles and their stories give us hope for the future.

Come let these stoles bear witness and listen to the story I have to tell. Hope to see you there!

Jesus Talks Seeds of Resistance

            You know those stories you’ve heard a thousand times? The ones you almost know by heart, that are so entrenched in your psyche you assume you know their meaning? The ones that are kind of boring you have heard them so often?

That’s what happened to me with this past Sunday’s lectionary gospel passage. Matthew relates Jesus telling several parables about what the kin-dom of heaven is like. At least that is what I thought it was about. Jesus says “The kin-dom of heaven is like… a mustard seed or yeast (in these stories).

So familiar. As a child my Mom gave me a necklace with a mustard seed enshrined in a clear bead. That seed represented the seed Jesus referred to but the actual seeds he was talking about were more like dust than the seed I wore around my throat.

I have heard it preached a hundred times that a mustard plant would grow almost to the size of a tree. We are all amazed at the girth of a plant that comes from the seed that tiny. Here is where many of us make the leap to thinking the kin-dom of heaven is like this huge bush. But that is not what Jesus says. He says it’s like dust.

The problem is we don’t trust the value of small things. We tend to think that what is valuable is what is bigger, better, more powerful. The truth of the matter is that the kin-dom is millions of small acts of love, comfort, compassion, and justice scattered into the world trusting that enough will fall on fertile soil.

In these murky days, where power and might, money and privilege are worshipped it is important to remind ourselves that our small acts of resistance matter. They are the seeds of connection. The seeds of healing. The substance of hope. The revolutionary seeds we plant to honor all that is sacred in one another.

So do not be discouraged. Scatter seeds of love for immigrants. Seeds of comfort for those facing the hatred, racism, sexism, homophobia, and trans-phobia exposed and encouraged by this president. Seeds of compassion for those who have been seduced by fear that someday dialogue may be restored. And scatter seeds of justice, even if you have to fight like hell to plant them.

I Will Not Leave You Comfortless

I can imagine no pain greater than one’s child dying. It is out of the natural order of things. It is difficult enough to lose one’s parent’s but we know that death is the natural end to a long life. It isn’t the natural end to a young one.

I will not use names because I respect the family whose loss is so recent, so raw, so unexpected. But I will tell you about a young woman with a huge heart, kind and loving, who adored her fur-kids, and lived out loud. She loved her family and they adored her. Now you might not think that needs remarked upon, and it wouldn’t, except that she was a lesbian born and raised in the South.

Born and raised in the Baptist Church where her family still worships. Where the pastor refused to hold her memorial service.

Mister, you make me ashamed to be a Christian. Or more truthfully, you make me ashamed that you call yourself a Christian. Over the years I’ve been told I wasn’t really a Christian because: a. I am an activist. B. I’m a feminist. C. I am a lesbian. And D. my theology is heretical. My piety credentials don’t pass muster. And that’s alright by me. Lest we forget, Jesus’ piety credentials didn’t pass muster either. If yours do, then I want no part of what you call Christianity.

It breaks my imagination to conceive of a ‘pastor’ who would refuse comfort and grace to a grieving family. Show me where you can justify your actions by asking what Jesus would do. Or show me, even if you worship rules, how you can refuse to offer comfort. Is it because the skirts of your self-righteousness might touch the ground? Is it because rejecting a soul that has been in the care of your community from birth is what you think is the ‘faithful’ thing to do? Is it because you simply don’t want to challenge your own discomfort? The discomfort of others? Are you afraid that the offering plate might not be so full?  Whatever the reason, there is no justification for the ham-handed, soul-less way you treated a family, all of whom, living or dead, are children of God.

To my dear friend’s family: I hate that you had to deal with the grief of rejection in addition to the enormous grief of your loss. One of the sure times we rely on our faith community is at the death of a loved one. Please know that wherever you find comfort and love, acceptance and shared grief, God is with you. The community of Spirit may look unfamiliar but  whatever colors, beliefs, disbeliefs, genders, or sexualities, know  you encounter Jesus there. You were not left alone. Jesus sits with you, holds you, lends you comfort in every face that is turned toward you and not away, in everyone who shared in her life and shares in your sadness, in ever person who reaches out in small ways and large. God enfolds you with grace and care. And God embraces the one we have lost with a love we can hardly imagine.

                 John 14:18  I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you.

“Are You Ready? Come Go With Me”

women's march

Today we pack our belongings – enough to last for three days. Not so much meager as essential. Take only what you need. Underwear, shirts, a pair of jeans, portable phone charger, black sharpie, metro pass, ID, gas money.

In the morning we load up the car. We will wipe the sleep from our eyes and suck down coffee as we face early traffic. It will be a long drive. And we will laugh and sing, pray and cry. Mostly we will feel both our connections and our shared fears.

I am not afraid of dying so much. And perhaps I am being over-dramatic but a friend called this morning and asked if I were sure I wanted to go. There could be violence, he warned. And this, too, is new for a seasoned marcher like me. This march may be more like Montgomery and Selma than the peaceful marches  for women’s rights, against the war, for civil rights, for gay rights that I have been a part of… this might be different.

I am not so much afraid of dying but it doesn’t mean I do not want to live. The Way in which I follow, the one whose life is my roadmap lets me know there are things worse than dying. Not standing for the disenfranchised, whether or not I am one of that number,  is worse than keeping ‘safe’. And what is ‘keeping safe’ any way if I abandon my core principles.

My dad was a soldier. He put his life on the line many days for many years. He, too, taught me that it is important to live in service to something greater than yourself. And he taught me that being brave and being afraid are intricately entwined. He even went so far as to tell me that if I wasn’t afraid then I would not proceed with caution and that was just plain stupid.

No matter the outcome of this  testament to the values we hold sacred, the standing together matters. I will stand with you, my friends, and I will stand for you.

There is a song from my younger days that the Staple Singers sang. It keeps running through my head and it is important for our time as well. I’ve posted the lyrics here. It is my invitation to the nation: come go with me. Go to Washington. Go to your local march. We cannot wait to stand and be counted.

If you’re ready come go with me

No hatred

Will be tolerated

Peace love all between the races

Love is the only transportation

To where there’s communications

If you’re ready come go with me

The boat is after

The ever here to there

No wars will ever be declared

No economical exploitation

No political domination

Take your evil

Come go with me

Genocide

Get ready

Troublemaker

You better get ready now

Liars

I’m waiting on ya

 

 

 

Songwriters

BANKS, HOMER / HAMPTON, CARL MITCHELL / JACKSON, RAYMOND E.

 

 

 

We Need A Little Christmas…


wood_street_mission_santa

Not here we said.

Never here.

But it is here

and it is now.

Wealth so repulsive, unethical, self-serving

Built on the backs of the hungry, the hurting, the oppressed,

the left out and left behind.

Power so arrogant as to despise kindness and human dignity.

 

We need a little Christmas right this very minute

We need a vision of the beauty in creation

the ethic of vulnerability

the power of love.

We need a story that emerges in the midst of

an oppressive state

corrupt power

religious factions.

We need a story of perseverance

Right over might

Love over hate

Goodness over evil

Truth over lies.

 

America is built on ideas that are important to hold on to and that many have forgotten. We are built on ideas that require a strong commitment to diversity, to a free press and undiluted truth. Assumed in our constitution, in all our founding documents is the idea that we will remain in dialogue. That respect for one another grounds us in a way of being. That relationship is necessary and disagreement is always in context of relationship. The concept of the ‘loyal opposition’ assumes we all seek the greater good for the nation.

We have lost that relationship. Lost it because, in no small part, the right is now so radicalized (see: Tea Party, white supremacists) that finding ‘a third way’ is no longer the goal. All or nothing is the goal. It has rent us in two.

So when I, as a pastor, say ‘we need a little Christmas’ I mean we need to remember the source of our faith journey. It begins in poverty, it values the outsider (moral, cultural, racial, etc) and it overcomes oppression, hate, and fear with love. Our story invites us to a kind of love that infuses a deep sense of self worth, the courage to resist, and the willingness to sacrifice.

Now the rubber meets the road. We must  live into ideas greater than ourselves and our own self-interest. For my fellow Christians, this season I urge us to embrace our story of hope, power, and promise. And let us honor faith traditions other than our own who journey beside us as they uniquely express the love of God.

The story of this nation isn’t over.

The story of the incarnation isn’t over.

It is just beginning.

Our hope is being born in the muck,

in the stench of poverty

in the belly of the oppressive beast.

We must allow hope to be born in us

with power and  passion

for the facing of this hour.

One Thing We Learned

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Today I need words. Great words. Large thoughts. I need to rise to the challenge of my faith to face hate with love, sorrow with comfort, and fear with hope.

Last night’s election was terrifying. Incredibly sad. Revelations about who we are as a nation shock and terrify us. The underbelly of hatred, fear, persecution, racism, homophobia, xenophobia and misogyny reared up and surprised us with the breadth of their power. And we need to talk about it.

We need to name the miscalculated and often denied venom of misogyny. Racism drove the election, absolutely and in no small ways. Xenophobia drove the election, without question and to our deep shame. But clearly revealed, often not spoken, perhaps unconscious driver in this election was the visceral fear of women in power. Even from liberals and millennials. Even from women. If we are to move forward toward a more just and kind world we must name this form of inhumanity that crosses race and culture and make change. It is some of the most important work before us. Just as it is clear that we are not in a post-racist time, we are surely not in a post-sexist time.

Today I challenge all the young women who told me women’s battles have been won.I challenge all men of good will who have never grasped the depth of our cultural hatred of women. I challenge all women who accept misogyny as status quo.

It is difficult to make this argument  given the privilege some women have because of race or wealth, but they are not immune. Race and wealth do not give women the protections we think it does. It rears its head when we are dehumanized by the porn industry and the fashion industry. It bays at our heels when we are dehumanized by sexual assault – either verbal or physical  –  and hides under our beds passing as a misdemeanor or worse that ‘boys will be boys’.  Women and men need to make misogyny a central political and spiritual issue because we live in an age when leaders can brag about ‘grabbing pussy’ and still get elected, when sports heroes are given a pass for rape, and when a perpetrator of repeated incest with a 12 year old gets 6 month jail sentence.

This call to arms  does not mean we rest in our fight against racism. It does not mean we  rest in our fight for the rights of sexual minorities.It does not mean we rest in our fight for those who have no voice: for the powerless, the poor, children and the elderly. But we also must not rest in our fight against the often invisible, multi-cultural hatred of women.

Wow. I said it. Hatred of women. But that’s what misogyny is. Using the word misogyny just sounds better than saying that the hatred of women drives our culture and politics. Wikipedia’s definition is:

Misogyny is the hatred of, contempt for, or prejudice against women or  girls.   Misogyny can be manifested in numerous ways, including social  exclusion, sex discrimination, hostility, androcentrism, patriarchy, male privilege, belittling of women, violence against women, and sexual  objectification.

In the extended article these observations were made by sociologists and philosophers:

According to sociologist Allan G. Johnson, “misogyny is a cultural attitude of hatred    for females because they are female.” Johnson argues that:

Misogyny …. is a central part of sexist prejudice and ideology and, as   such, is an important basis for the oppression of females in male-dominated societies. Misogyny is manifested in many different ways, from  jokes to pornography to violence to the self-contempt women may be   taught to feel toward their own bodies.[4]

Sociologist Michael Flood, at the University of Wollongong, defines misogyny as the hatred of women, and notes:

Though most common in men, misogyny also exists in and is practiced by             women against other women or even themselves. Misogyny functions as an ideology or belief system that has accompanied patriarchal, or male- dominated societies for thousands of years and continues to place women  in subordinate positions with limited access to power and decision making.

[…] Aristotle contended that women exist as natural deformities or  imperfect males […] Ever since, women in Western cultures have   internalized their role as societal scapegoats, influenced in the twenty-first century by multimedia objectification of women with its culturally sanctioned self-loathing and fixations on plastic surgery, anorexia and             bulimia.[5]

It is painful to look when a light is shown on the power, pervasiveness, and insidiousness of misogyny when there are many men we love – fathers, sons, cousins, friends, lovers…                                                                                                        Women of all colors, all ethnicities, all classes, all sexualities must learn to recognize and name misogyny. We must choose to refuse to hate ourselves. We must speak our truth to power, even to men we love, – only then will we change the world.

Today I call on all good men, all thoughtful women, all institutions of power to name and challenge misogyny where you find it. Everywhere you find it. You will get a taste of what people of color experience when they talk about their experience of racism and are told how they are too sensitive and how much things have changed. You will be embarrassed because sexism is a more acceptable form of oppression, more tolerated, even by good liberals, that you might  hesitate to speak up.

But we must speak up. Just as people of color and white people must recognize and speak out against racism, tolerating the discomfort and backlash. So must women and men must learn to recognize and speak out against misogyny and sexism and be willing to tolerate the discomfort and backlash.

Until we do and until we begin to actively work against the real hatred of women we cannot have lasting change for the human race.