The Unconditional Love of the Father

As a leader in our local chapter of Parents, Families, and Friends of Lesbians and Gays (PFLAG), I'm quite often asked to make presentations to groups about the work that we do.  Today, it was at United Church.  Two services, with a total of about 50-60 people.  And in-between the services, I got to help out in the kitchen, chopping carrots and potatoes for the stew that the church was making to serve to the homeless later today.

The committee that asked me to present, the Mission Committee, gets to invite someone to come in and do what they call a "mission moment".  It's a short period in the service, roughly 3-5 minutes, to present whatever the cause may be, and what we (the presenters) would like from the congregation of United Church.  Sometimes, that's money.  Sometimes, that's time.  For me, it was about people power.  Particularly straight people power of those who believe in changing our world through the spread of unconditional love.

This being Father's Day in the United States, I framed my remarks, appropriately enough, around my father, Edward "Bud" Gage.  Those who have been reading this blog for a number of years know how integral my father is to my spiritual journey. How appropriate, then, to reflect upon the moment I "came out" as gay to my dad.   I had told my mother already, and she had been sitting with this information for about six weeks.  She decided it was time to tell my dad, and so, she arranged the phone call. 

I was scared to death.   My dad, the former Navy officer, the former Exeter District Court judge, the life-long, staunch Republican, raised a Calvinist in the Dutch Reformed Church, was a looming presence in my psyche.  The thought of telling him about my sexual orientation was incredibly frightening. I thought, "There's no way he'll understand this."  He would hate me.  He would disown me. And, more crushing in my mind, I would have been a disappointment to him.

My mother, very helpfully, set up the conversation in this way:

"Bud, Susan has something she wants to say to you."

I was crying.  My partner, probably harboring many of my fears as well, was standing by, holding my hand.  I pushed past my tears for the big reveal.

"Dad.  I'm a lesbian."

There was a pause.  And in that dead space on the phone, I was conjuring up the image of my dad, ready to explode in anger about the dishonor I had brought upon him, the family and myself.  Every really bad after-school-like special was colliding in my brain as I waited for his answer.

"Well..." he said, slowly.  "Who's to say Jesus Christ wasn't gay?"

I was stunned.  And I started laughing, not so much at the remark and the suggestion that maybe Jesus and John the Evangelist did have a little something special going on between them.  But it was more at the release from my fear of rejection, and the recognition that what my dad was really saying in that statement is: "I love you unconditionally." 

Though my father didn't march in Pride parades, or wave a banner proclaiming, "I love my lesbian daughter," I know he did.  He would demonstrate that love in so many ways by engaging in laughter and conversation with my partner about legal topics, and basking in the attention of all my lesbian friends who helped celebrate his birthday one year when my parents came for a visit.  He would go to PFLAG conferences with my mom and enjoyed learing about the transgender community. One day, he got a phone call from his cousin Fred, a very conservative and homophobic man, who demanded to know why I, Bud Gage's daughter, was on a radio program talking about "those homosexuals."  Fred's son had heard me on "This Way Out" and called his dad to find out if that was me.  Fred was furious. And when he called, I think he expected a much different reaction from my dad than the one he got.  I think Fred was hoping my dad would share his "grave concern" about me. Instead, my father reiterated that he loved me, he was proud of me, not only for being who I was in my sexual orientation, but being a voice that people heard on the radio!  Needless to say, Fred never attempted to discuss this topic with my father again.

It is this kind of unconditional love that my father modeled which is reflective of the love I see in all the parents who come to PFLAG, especially as they attend, listen, and share with one another.  They want to do right by their gay children in the same way other family members and friends want to do right by the lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender people in their lives. This group provides them a safe haven to come and ask questions where they won't be judged, and they will also feel that same unconditional love, which they then can carry with them back into the world.

This is the same unconditional love that I believe comes from the one who I call Love.  This is the lesson that I believe Jesus Christ lived, preached, died, and was resurrected to demonstrate to all people, believer and non-believer alike.  

My big ask of the United Church community is the one I ask of all people who are not self-identified as a member of the lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, questioning, queer community: join us in our struggle for full equality.  Become active in PFLAG.  Keep us on the path of moving equality forward, one family and individual at a time. 

 

Second Chances and The Forgiveness of Sins

Sometimes, a little anger can lead to something good.  And, in this case, my righteous indignation helped St. John's Episcopal Church take another small step forward in the cause of inclusion of LGBT people.

I was invited to address our Outreach Commission about a lack of printed materials that offered an explicit welcome to LGBT visitors to the parish and our straight allies.  The genesis for me going to this meeting came about a couple months ago when I was setting up the PFLAG table at the annual Pride on the Plaza festival.  As always, we provided space for St. Stephen Lutheran Church to put out their literature advertising themselves as a welcoming congregation.  However, this time, I found that their flyer was making me angry.  And I couldn't understand why.  Then it hit me:  I was frustrated that there was no similar flyer from my church, the church where PFLAG has been meeting for four years!  I took my outrage to the head of our Outreach Commission, who promptly asked if I wanted to be on the agenda.  And I agreed, and then recruited a gay friend to also come to the meeting.
 
I had gone to the discussion in the hopes that I might get the Commission to recommend to the vestry and clergy that we develop a pamphlet which could be handed out to show our welcome to all people, especially gay, lesbian, bi, and trans people.  But after a short discussion, with some sharing around the pain that was once present at St. John's in the form of a homophobic rector, the Commission voted unanimously to recommend that there be an LGBT Outreach ministry.  For such a thing to work will require support of the vestry... and the clergy.  I have no doubts that such support is there; I do wonder how that can be achieved in this diocese which has absolutely refused to have any discussion about human sexuality at all.  But I trust God, and God does move in mysterious ways.

All of this happened on Tuesday, which was the Feast Day of St. Barnabas.  What is known of Barnabas, one of the apostles, is that he once had a field, and he sold it and gave all the money for the  spread of The Way.  He was also the one who intervened on Saul's behalf after the former persecutor of The Way had his amazing conversion experience.  Barnabas encouraged the other apostles to accept that maybe, just maybe, Saul really was one of them and was ready to spread the Good News throughout the region.   Barnabas means, "Son of Encouragement," but I think of him as the one who always argues for people to have a second chance, having defended Saul... and later defending Mark when St. Paul wasn't interested in having Mark along on the travels to churches. 

With this historical witness in my mind and my heart, I found that as I shared with the Outreach Commission the work of PFLAG, how we have helped parents become more loving and less apprehensive about their gay kids, and how St. John's willingness to host our PFLAG chapter has done much to improve the church's image in the community, I was not afraid or nervous.  I was acknowledging that St. John's has made strides in the direction of being inclusive within its walls; now, it needs to take that out more into the city.  I have made this case several times before to various clergy and others at the church to no avail.  But something inside me told me, this time, things are different.

My co-presenter for the evening shared his own experiences of not being sure if he could enter St. John's because there was nothing "out there" in any of the local gay publications that explicitly welcomed gay people to come and worship.  And that opened the floor for the straight members of the Commission to air some of their own experiences, before "the split" of the congregation.  Some said that after hearing one sermon laced with venomous speech, they couldn't think of raising their family in that parish.  How many others might have had that same experience, and are staying away now?  In the back of my mind I kept thinking, "Son of Encouragement, here is our second chance to make things right."  The group meeting in the upstairs classroom that evening seemed to be on the same wavelength.

Second chances are part of the nature of Christ's work.  In the Gospel lesson assigned for the Fourth Sunday After Pentecost, we have Luke's account of the dinner party at the Pharisee's house when an unexpected, and uninvited, guest shows up.  It's a woman with an alabaster jar filled with expensive ointment.  She washes Jesus feet with her tears and wipes them with her hair, and then anoints him with the oil.  The Pharisee, and probably others as well, were put off by this "public display of affection" because... well, y'know... we all know what kind of woman she is, a horrible sinner as opposed to the upright and proper man such as this host of the party.  Jesus, himself a Son of Encouragement and definitely a believer in second chances, takes a moment to tell the parable of the two people who are in debt to a creditor.  One owes 500 denarii; the other owes only a tenth of that amount.  But the creditor, upon hearing that neither of these two can repay him, decides to just cancel their debt.  Jesus asks his Pharisee host, Simon, "So, who do you think is going to love the creditor more?"  And Simon, correctly, answers the one who was in greater debt.  And Jesus goes on to note that Simon didn't offer to wash Jesus' feet, anoint him with oil, or even offer him a kiss.  But this woman, who is scorned, has given fully of herself and has not stopped kissing his feet.  Therefore, she, who has many sins, has been forgiven because she has shown great love and "the one to whom little is forgiven, loves little." 

Interestingly, the next line in the passage is how everyone then started bickering around the table about "Where does he get off forgiving people of their sins?"  We have no resolution to that moment, because the next lines are about Jesus going out throughout the town, preaching, teaching, and picking up more followers, particularly women.  Those women, too, like Barnabas, gave of their resources to aid in Christ's ministry.  And why would they not?  Jesus had recognized the faith and love of a fellow sister in a patriarchal society. 

And he did the unexpected: he gave this woman with her alabaster jar and tears a second chance through forgiveness.  This was a huge gift to this woman to restore her to a rightful place through recognition of her love and faith.  This is the same gift God grants to each person in the hopes that we, too, might also extend it to each other.  That's the lesson Jesus was teaching in Simon the Pharisee's house.  When those who questioned "by what authority" did Jesus have to forgive this woman's sins, they had already shown that they failed to understand what he was teaching.  They were still focusing on the black and white letter of the law, as opposed to what is the intent of the law. And in getting that wrapped up in the technicalities, they couldn't see that the "authority" is God, and God acts, exists, and perpetuates good in the world through "God's people" when they love one another the way God has loved.

In today's world, it is up to each one of us who profess a belief in Christ to be that one who is willing to do the unexpected, and forgive people who have messed up and give them a second chance when they come with their tears and their metaphorical alabaster jars.  "By what authority" is simply answered: God's authority, working through us.  It is up to us to see the sincerity of the heart, and offer forgiveness. 

In some ways, I believe, that is what happened with the Outreach Commission.  Another piece of the sin that was left behind by those who preached hatred at St. John's was made right, by proxy, by those who have remained and want to reconcile any differences that still exist with the community's LGBT population.  Their unanimous vote to recommend an LGBT outreach ministry is a good, and right, and joyful thing.  And I believe God, and all the saints... especially Barnabas... rejoiced.

Talking Points

As we have entered into the month of Pride celebrations--and the height of 'wedding season'--the advocates for marriage equality are eagerly awaiting the ruling in the two marriage cases pending before the U.S. Supreme Court.

Nobody knows when, exactly, the high court will issue an opinion.  

No one knows, exactly, what the justices will say in that opinion.  

We do  know there will be a ruling.  And we know that we need to be ready to respond to said ruling.  And this often leads to that tightrope walk called "Talking Points."
 

It's hard to know what to talk about when you don't know to what you are responding.  However, there are some who have begun developing a list of "talking points" if the Court says this, that, or the other.  As one who is among the many LGBT community leaders sitting on the edge of my seat in anticipation of these opinions, I'm glad to be observing the conversations happening across the country via the internet about how and what we should say when the Court finally speaks.   And I've noticed that with all the groups that are engaged in this conversation, there are many nuanced ways to say what it is we want to say.
 

The difficulty I see, however, is that there is no good way to come up with "a" message that is going to work for everyone across the country. And, much as folks have made their cases for using the phrase "similar to" as opposed to "just like" based upon focus group responses to words, in the end, people will hear what they want to hear no matter how well you choose your words.  I think, as we all get ready for these rulings, the concentration should be on the issue--marriage equality---and the impact any particular decision is going to have on the local context.

For instance, in Florida, a ruling from the U.S. Supreme Court that says the Prop 8 case should never have come before them because those defending the California law don't have standing to do so, will be great for the lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender community of California; it will not mean anything here.  In the Windsor case, which is the one challenging the federal Defense of Marriage Act, there is a concern that the Court will only find a portion of the law unconstitutional and will turn the enforcement of DOMA over to the states.  For Floridians, this will be highly disappointing because our state lawmakers have shown little to no interest in protecting LGBT citizens from discrimination.  A "middle of the road" opinion from the Court will have the effect of being more like a "median in the road" of our country: there will be those who live, mostly above the Mason-Dixon Line, who will continue to enjoy the benefits of equality while those of us living in the southeastern United States will be on the other side of that median, stuck in traffic as it were.  This growing gulf between gays and lesbians living in the north versus' the south can not continue if we are going to be one nation.  And our LGBT brothers and sisters, as well as our allies in those places where they have already achieved equality by leaps and bounds, must not forget those of us who are not enjoying that taste of freedom yet.  We will need your voices to join with our own to raise up the hue and cry that we want "liberty and justice for all" to reach us as well.

Ultimately, our voices will be "the thing" that will change hearts and minds.  LGBT people, our family members and our friends, telling our stories and sharing who we are is the only way to persuade people who remain "unsure" to see that we are not to be feared.  As the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., said: "Darkness cannot drive out darkness.  Only light can do that.  Hate cannot drive out hate.  Only love can do that."  The more we keep showing up, presenting our true selves, and refusing to engage in a shouting match with those who would scream epithets at us, the more we will see a movement in our direction... even in the south.  It takes courage.  It takes the willingness to stand up and stand out.  If we remain invisible, nothing will change.  Tell your story.  And do not be afraid... even when you're trembling inside.

 

Fun with the Nuns on the Bus

Raise your hands, raise your voices for meaningful immigration reform now!

That was the morning calisthentic lesson and corresponding chant as the ten nuns, known as the "Nuns on the Bus" met with activists, faith leaders, and social justice advocates of all ages, races, and orientations in a cross-country effort to get Congress to adopt an immigration reform bill this summer.  Strangely, the crowd of mostly Democratic Party movers and shakers, found themselves having to speak positively about U.S. Senator Marco Rubio, one of the co-authors of the Senate-version of the immigration reform bill.  One of the union leaders at the event admitted they disagree with Rubio on "97-percent of what he does," but this time, it was important to get behind him and give him encouragement in the face of much mudslinging from the racist elements in his own Republican Party.

The cross-section of people who came together to follow the nuns on their walk up to the Capitol all agree on one thing: the bill Rubio, and seven others, have put together is a "good start," but it is not, by far, the perfect bill.  It will, however, create a better path to citizenship for many in this country, and will allow children, born in the United States but with immigrant parents, to have access to our educational and health care systems in ways that, in some states, have been denied... based upon the parents' status.

One of the glaring neglects in the bill, for me and others, is the lack of inclusion of binational LGBT couples.  There are many men and women in same-sex relationships in this country who are treading lightly for fear that, one day, the federal immigration authorities will knock at their door and tell their partner to "go home, you furriner!"  There don't have to be reasons; they can just kick them out.  And, in a lot of cases, the immigrant partner will be kicked out to go back to a country that will persecute them for being an LGBT person.   The organizer of yesterday's event with the nuns acknowledged that, as has happened many times in the political arena, we LGBT people became the casualities in order to secure the votes of people like the Marco Rubio's... and even the nuns.  Sounds an awful lot like "living in a crucified place," doesn't it?

Still, having witnessed the nuns in person, and their utter amazement at the rock star status they've gained since they stood up to the male hierarchy of the Roman Catholic Church and insisted that their mission must be about working with the poor and disenfranchised, I think they are not as likely to fall into the stereotype of the Roman thinking.  But they know the climate on Capitol Hill, and they know the depth and breadth of the problems that are occuring right now in America with immigrant families getting torn apart because of our lack of clarity on becoming a citizen.  And they know you need to get a foundation laid, and then you can build up from there.

Most importantly, they know that what gives them the strength to travel and speak and stand in front of the powerful to make their case is a source beyond themselves.  As one of the sisters noted, they think about the parable about the mustard seed.  And when they see a room as they did yesterday of many people gathered in support of their lobbying effort, they know the mustard seed is planted, and it is growing into a movement to get things done to make our country more hospitable to the stranger, to the weak, and to the friendless.

"You kind of call us like Johnny Mustardseed, going around planting these seeds, and look what grows up?  An amazing opportunity to do comprehensive immigration reform."

And when do we want it? Now!

Blessed Visitation: Moses Returns

Many of you may recall the story of Moses that I posted HEREon this blog. That evening did much to transform me, and it has bothered me to no end that I had not seen Moses again since that night. I have wondered about him, and worried that the whole experience might have turned him away from ever coming on the St. John's property again. If it had, I would not have blamed him. But it made me very sad.

So, imagine my great joy and delight when I processed in at noon day to serve as the Eucharistic Minister, turned around and saw Moses sitting in the back of the chapel. He smiled and waved, and I nodded at him in recognition. The difficulties of being in an "official" role at the service is that you have to maintain decorum... even when your inner impulses are saying, "HEY!!! How's it going, man?!"

The timing of his return could not have been better. For Moses to make his reappearance on the feast day of the Blessed Visitation was too perfect. The Church was celebrating that moment when Mary, pregnant with Jesus, visits her older cousin, Elizabeth, who is also pregnant with John the Baptist. In the account in Luke's gospel passage, Elizabeth warmly greets her cousin:

Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit and exclaimed with a loud cry, ‘Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb.And why has this happened to me, that the mother of my Lord comes to me?For as soon as I heard the sound of your greeting, the child in my womb leapt for joy.

I thought, "I have no child in me, but my heart has leapt for joy, too, because one who I thought was lost has returned!" This feast day, a moment to celebrate all the underdogs and misfits and easily ignored and marginalized people, brought back Moses for a noon day service. At the passing of the peace, the two of us made a purposeful bee-line for each other. We greeted each other, and he leaned into me.

"I want to thank you for what you did for me that night."

"You're welcome. I'm so glad to see you, Moses."

Strangely, I wanted to thank him for what that experience with the cop outside the church had done for me. It really took me well out of my comfort zone and pushed me passed the fear of going up against an authority figure like the security officer to do what I believed was the good and right and joyful thing to do: namely, stop an unnecessary arrest and trip to the Leon County jail. I could have just gone on my way and stayed out of the situation. That was an option. But deep within me, having sat for an hour in meditative prayer, and gazing upon that window of Mary with its darkened features, I was unable to turn away from such an injustice. The words of the Magnificat seemed appropriate:

And Mary said,
‘My soul magnifies the Lord,
and my spirit rejoices in God mySaviour,
for he has looked with favour on the lowliness of his servant.
Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed;
for the Mighty One has done great things for me,
and holy is his name.

Some who have heard the story immediately want to blame the cop for his behavior and see him as a thug with a badge out to mess with a black man. But I spent time with that officer after Moses was released and allowed to return to the chapel. I let him tell his side of the story, the pressure that was on him in his role to keep people safe. And he is also a black man, and even tried to assure Moses that race had nothing to do with the complaints that he'd been hearing about "that man" in the chapel who was making some people feel unsafe. What we all didn't realize in that moment standing out on the street corner was that the concept of "safe" really is in the eye of the beholder. Removing Moses in handcuffs didn't make anyone safer; instead it stirred the Spirit within me to leave behind what I would have called "safety" to stand up for the weak. And I vouched for Moses, assuring the officer that he really was OK and to just let him pray however he was going to pray. I gave my name to the cop. If anything backfired, it would be on my head.

As he left the chapel, Moses asked me what is my full name.

"Susan Gage."

He repeated it, and we said our good-byes.

I hope he comes back.

Listening to Voices

When I was a freshman in prep school, I had to perform a monologue from George Bernard Shaw's play, "Saint Joan." My brother was getting married the weekend that was our finals week, and the final exam in my theater course was to be a scene between two people. Since I wouldn't be there, my teacher had me do a monologue. He took the speech in Shaw's play where Joan is on trial, removed some of the interjections from other characters, and gave it to me to memorize. And, massive introvert that I am, I delved headlong into learning this part... and tapping into her courage and convinction. I knew the history of St. Joan, and how she was guided by voices. And I imagined how a woman, not that much older than myself, who had already commanded armies and proven herself a fighter would have felt if she were told, "You will spend the rest of your life in a prison." I also went into her belief that she was doing the work of God as guided by the saints. There was burning rage and righteous rebelliousness in the speech. I hit all of it. And I got an "A" and the great admiration of the school's theater director who, unbeknownst to me, had been invited to "drop in" and watch my performance. My freshman teacher had seen a preview of what I was going to do, and told Dr. Tretler, himself a former Catholic priest, "You need to see this."

What had amazed and wowed everyone was the passion with which I delievered the lines. I wasn't afriad to shout where it was appropriate. I didn't hesitate to allow my voice to quiet down as she talked lovingly about her French countryside, only to build back up into a roar against those who were condemning her as a heretic. I remember the last part of the speech:

"His ways are not your ways. He would will me to go through the fire to his bosom for I am his child and I am not fit that I should live among you. That is my last word to you." (emphasis added)

I felt her rage. I felt her struggle. I think I still do.

Those who tap into the source of Love through hearing the voices of saints or hymns or prayers are the peculiar ones. I count myself among the peculiar. I can't seem to go through the day without something turning my mind toward that Love that runs like an invisible river through the world. I often feel I'm at slight angle to the culture. I know I desire to see the world around me shift closer to that river of Love. I'm not about to pick up a sword and lead an army. I feel, at times, I've done that in my role as an LGBT activist. But there are times when leading an army isn't the right course of action. These days, the pull on me is not to protest, but to keep paying attention to the repeating chant, "Veni, Sancte Spiritus."

The Collect for this day:

Holy God, whose power is made perfect in weakness: we honor you for the calling of Jeanne d’Arc, who, though young, rose up in valor to bear your standard for her country, and endured with grace and fortitude both victory and defeat; and we pray that we, like Jeanne, may bear witness to the truth that is in us to friends and enemies alike, and, encouraged by the companionship of your saints, give ourselves bravely to the struggle for justice in our time; through Christ our Savior, who with you and the Holy Spirit lives and reigns, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

Part of this paying attention is for me to open myself further, and release more of the grip my ego has on defining me. This is tough stuff. It requires a level of weakness and vulnerability that many rational minds can not endure.

And this is my path as of May 30, 2013.

The Fourth Dimension of the Trinity

Trinity Sunday: the day so many priests run away from the pulpit. This seems to be one of those Sundays when the most junior clergy person is asked to preach, and is given over to explain to the congregation the nature of our triune God. Hazing for priests, I suppose. If the person preaching is smart, however, they'll quickly reach this conclusion: "I don't know. I can't explain it. Too many have tried and failed because we're attempting to wrap our minds around the real question inherent in the question of the Trinity: 'What is the nature of God?' And that's beyond our human capacity to answer in any full, complete way. So let's move on..."

When I think about something like the Trinity, the first thing that comes to mind are the lines from Isaiah 55:

"For your thoughts are not my thoughts, nor your ways my ways, says The Lord."

Theologians, and church wonks of all kinds, have wrestled with ways to explain how God can be Father, Son and Holy Spirit, all at once, with distinctly different roles, being of one substance, and not three separate persons. Lots of people have been called heretics, cast out of the Christian community, embraced, then discredited, then embraced again... only to finally be thrown out for a final time all because of the doctrine of the Trinity, or the equally quarrelsome Eucharistic feast.

From where I sit, on Trinity Sunday 2013, I wonder if our 3-D God isn't missing one other dimension: the feminine power of God which is found every time we encounter the Wisdom literature of the Hebrew Scriptures. Consider what is today's reading from Proverbs:

Does not wisdom call,

and does not understanding raise her voice?

Ages ago I was set up,

at the first, before the beginning of the earth.

When there were no depths I was brought forth,

when there were no springs abounding with water.

Before the mountains had been shaped,

before the hills, I was brought forth--

when he had not yet made earth and fields,

or the world's first bits of soil.

When he established the heavens, I was there,

when he drew a circle on the face of the deep,

when he made firm the skies above,

when he established the fountains of the deep,

when he assigned to the sea its limit,

so that the waters might not transgress his command,

when he marked out the foundations of the earth,

then I was beside him, like a master worker;

and I was daily his delight,

rejoicing before him always,

rejoicing in his inhabited world

and delighting in the human race.

This feminine force of Wisdom has been with God from the beginning; hence she is weaved into the Trinity with the Son and the Holy Spirit. This, I believe, supports my theory that the completion of the Trinity called, "Father, Son, and Holy Spirit," is colored with the feminine Wisdom, present in all three persons of the Trinity. Wisdom adds the depth and breadth to the Trinity. Wisdom is also present in Christ's mind, body and spirit; hence, even this male personage, who came down from heaven to be born, live, and die with us, had a well-developed sense of his feminine side, too. Andrew Harvey, and others, have pointed to this being the Androgyne Christ: Christ, who explodes the binary concept of gender, and invites us to also let go of those things that separate us from God through gender constructs. This Wisdom, inherent in the Trinity, will rock us, challenge us, and guide us to a new relationship with God, the Three in One and One in Three.

It will happen... if we let it.