Friday, November 12, 2021

Simple Witness

laptop cover with Pride and Episcopal stickers

 I don't make a big deal about being a lesbian. I guess that comes with having been "out" for more than half my life. Or maybe it's because I'm at the age where I really don't have time for people's prejudices against me or anyone else for that matter. But now, taking my place among the ordained clergy in the Episcopal Church and especially in a diocese in Bible Belt country, I find myself being reminded on occasion that I am something of a unicorn. 

It's not that there aren't other lesbian and gay priests here. But not many of them are as outwardly visible as I am. At my diaconal ordination, the bishop said in his sermon that I would "stretch" the diocese by my presence. I understood that in an intellectual way. And I've been discovering it in more heartfelt ways over these past four months. 

For example, dismissing "my siblings in Christ," at the end of a service became a matter that had to be "discussed" with the bishop to make sure that I could use the term "siblings" in place of the gender binary term "brothers and sisters." It seemed appropriate to me, especially as I surveyed this congregation which includes members of the gay and lesbian community of Valdosta. I felt the joy and love in the room that we all had for one another, so the dismissal came very freely and easy from me. For the record, the bishop said that my use of the term was fine, and the individual who raised the concern acknowledged that they "had some things to learn."  I confirmed that, and thanked them for letting me know the outcome of that conversation. 

But what really made me understand the profound impact of my presence came at last weekend's diocesan convention. 

As a very new member of the clergy in the diocese of Georgia, and as an off-the-scale introvert, I knew that I wasn't going to come into convention and make floor speeches, but rather be present and "listen and learn something," as my late father would say. I'd observed Georgia conventions before, so I knew the way things flowed in the business meeting. Still, this one was going to be heavy into the weeds of some canonical and constitutional "clean up," so, with enough coffee, I felt that my role was not to talk but give the speakers my attention. 

At some point, I noticed that my iPhone's battery was draining quickly. I pulled out my laptop, put in the lightening cord, and used the USB port to put some more life back into my phone. What I did not realize was that I and my laptop cover, bedecked in various pro-queer Christian stickers, would be caught onscreen in the convention center, not just for the people present, but those who were watching online at home. My seat was in that sweet spot just a couple of rows behind one of the microphones on the floor, so whenever someone approached to speak from that particular mic, I was in the lower righthand corner of the shot. Realizing that I was visible, I made sure to keep my COVID-safe masked face in a very neutral expression. Doing seminary on Zoom, I learned my lesson about controlling my facial expressions!

That's why I was concerned when one of the clergy members approached me at the end of the convention and started with, "I don't know if you realized that you were on the screen while people were talking..."

My heart began to beat a little faster. I had visions of something I might have done to draw attention to myself. Was it an unintended frown, some side glance, or (worse) did I roll my eyes at something I was hearing? Steeling myself for the worst, I listened as my fellow clergy person continued.

"You had your laptop open with all the stickers. And we have a child who is trans, and I was able to contact them and point to you as a leader in the church...." 

My heart went from pounding to melting. I could feel tears welling up in my eyes. Without knowing it or planning it, I had become representative of something larger than myself that had not only moved another member of the clergy; it had served as a bridge to the church for a child in transition. I had a vision in that moment of what it must have been for Jesus to be in situations such as with the hemorrhaging woman or even in the Syrophoenician woman where he knew in these encounters that he represented something greater than himself...and for more than just the children of Israel.    

I can only imagine the difficulties this must be for this family. Preacher's kids, or PKs, live in a fishbowl existence. If mom or dad is the parish priest, and are living with the demands of a parish who expect some sort of superhuman perfection from their clergy person and 24/7 access to them, the kids are also under constant observation and have to wrestle for the attention of their clergy parent who spends hours ministering to the needs of their siblings in Christ. That's tough enough. Now to be a kid with a parent who is so public, serving in an institution that has not always lived up to its "All are welcome" message to the LGBTQ+ community, I can sense the difficulties and strain that must cause for this child. All the more reason to see someone whom God has called to be the outward and visible sign of God's immense love for those whom the church has not always shown kindness.  

I asked for their name, and have been praying for them ever since. And I invited this priest to bring them to my ordination, so they might see a gender non-conforming lesbian become officially part of the Sacred Order of Priests in the diocese of Georgia. 

God is working God's purpose out as year succeeds to year...


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