The Challenge of Living Bread: A Sermon at St. Barnabas Episcopal Church

On the road to Valdosta, GA, through Jefferson County, Florida.

Below is the text for my first sermon at one of the two congregations I am serving in Valdosta, GA. St. Barnabas Episcopal Church has been without priest for more than 18-months, and I am now serving as the Deacon-in-Charge. It's a challenge to love and serve people in a city 80+ miles away. And I am only quarter-time, which makes this task even more difficult. Hence, I was feeling all the pressure of (1) hoping to make a favorable impression and not bore the mighty congregation of 20 to death; (2) rolling in some teaching about Scripture while preaching (which is my tendency anyway but feels especially important when there is no Christian Education program happening) and most importantly (3) hoping that something in the sermon might touch someone and give them something to think about for the week. Adding to my difficulty: the Gospel text has imagery that sounds weird...and is pointing to the Eucharistic feast. Sadly, as Deacon-in-Charge, I can't preside at the table, and this congregation only gets Eucharist once a month when a supply priest comes in. Ah, the joys and confounding nature of church!

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Sermon for Sunday August 15, 2021

Good morning! I’m happy to be back with you this morning…though I have to say…I wish I had picked a Sunday with a less complex and even troubling…Gospel passage. The more I poured over this sixth chapter of John, the more I realized that inch-by-inch…Jesus is revealing to the crowd two things: One: God has come down from heaven to feed them in a way that satisfies more than their grumbling tummies. This food brings them eternal life…and two: it comes from taking in Jesus…who goes to the cross…and becoming so changed by him that our ways are more loving and less self-involved.

Whoa!

So let’s unpack all this…and see where go.

To begin…imagine for a moment what it must have been like for this crowd to hear these words about bread and flesh and blood. Remember this whole thing begins with the miracle of the feeding of the five thousand.

They were fed. But the crowd did not disperse. They want more. They’re still hungry.

“A-ha!” says Jesus, “Yes, you are hungry and thirsty!”

Jesus knows the crowd understands bread. They know about the manna in the wilderness. They have bread and wine as part of their ritual of celebrating the fruits of the earth.  

But now Jesus is reinterpreting the meaning of bread and what it represents.  

This bread has come down from heaven.

This bread is the living bread.

In fact…this living bread which has come down from heaven is flesh. And blood. His flesh and blood.

And we must eat and drink this flesh and blood to have “eternal” life.

(Pause)

What in the world is he talking about?!

Eating his flesh?! Drinking his blood?!

It’s a weird thing even for us to contemplate and may conger up images of zombie movies.

But if we get stuck here…and stay fixated on literal things…the stuff of actual bread…real flesh and blood…we’ll miss his point.

Jesus is saying he is the incarnation of God…the “living bread” that has “come down from Heaven” and has entered the world.  This hearkens back to the opening lines of John’s Gospel:

“In the beginning was the Word and the Word was with God and the Word was God” (John 1:1)…and “the Word became flesh and lived among us…” (John 1:14)

The Word…God…has become flesh and blood…Jesus.

Jesus…God is living among us.

Now, this idea of God being with the people is not new. The stories from the Old Testament speak to the idea of God traveling with the Israelites throughout their wanderings in the desert.

But here comes Jesus taking that idea one step further.

This isn’t just God being with the people.

Jesus is now saying to have eternal life…to have our deepest yearnings met…we must eat…or bring God…into our bodies so that our very flesh and blood becomes vibrant and alive and intimately infused with God and transformed from the inside out.

Jesus is talking about an intensely intimate relationship with God. That level of intimacy…where we give up ourselves…our self-interests…not hold back anything in self-preservation and allow God into our lives to transform us?

That’s a struggle, isn’t it? And it’s not easy.

I can see it playing out in our global community.

On the one hand…I hear the report about what’s happening with the warming of the planet. We feel it…don’t we…and certainly our famers can understand how the increasing temperatures is leading to greater and greater challenges for their crops and livestock.

Worldwide…this is going to have dramatic effects on people…leading to more mass migrations…which leads to more tensions over land and where people can live.

All of this grieves me deeply…maybe it grieves you, too.

And then I get in my car…and stop at the gas station…to drive home. I’m certainly not about to walk here from Tallahassee!

As St. Paul might say, “I do not understand the things that I do. I don’t do the things that I want, but what I do is the thing that I hate.”  (Romans 7:15) And so  I am driving and grieving…while contributing to the very thing that’s causing me to grieve…and hurting others on the planet.

But I still see some hope…even in this tension of a serious environmental threat.

I see it if I look to the way Solomon…a man taking over as king…turned to God in prayer, seeking transformation.  

He doesn’t ask for riches or things to make himself comfortable; he desires wisdom.

He wants his heart and mind to be infused with that spirit which moves throughout the Hebrew Scriptures…to be closer with the One who knows our all in all…so that he could make good and right decisions for the people.

Truthfully, Solomon already had enough wisdom to know to ask God for wisdom. Because Solomon knew he could not do this task of leading the people without God.

And we see how that delighted God!

And so I wonder if…we had the wisdom of Solomon…what it would be like if we became vulnerable and humble enough to pray to God for deeper wisdom?  Ask for the way to let go a little more of our self to make room for God to transform us?

Might it lead us to make changes in how we live and move and have our being?

Are we able to be vulnerable enough to let God so deeply into our souls…our minds…our bodies that we might feel genuine satisfaction of hunger and maybe even accomplish more than we can ask or imagine?

I believe such transformations…and internal shifts…are possible…especially if we commit to making prayer not just something we do in church on Sundays, but as a regular habit. Prayer doesn’t have to be elaborate…or doing pew aerobics as I like to call it. It can have words…like praying the Lord’s Prayer. Or it can meditative…praying a favorite phrase of Scripture as a way of grounding us and centering us during times of crisis. This regular engagement in prayer has certainly helped and transformed me. I remember a time when I was at a county commission meeting in Tallahassee. There was an issue the commission was debating that was hotly contested and tempers were flaring. I mean, it was getting personal and ugly. And I found myself dipping into the words of one of our collects in the back of our Book of Common Prayer:

“O God the Father of all, whose Son commanded us to love our enemies; lead them and us from prejudice to truth; deliver them and us from cruelty, hatred and revenge. And, in your good time, enable us all to stand before you; through Jesus Christ our Lord.”

I must have prayed that at least a half dozen times that night. And what it did for me is center me back into God in a way that I could look at the people “on the other side” with more compassion. And it showed. One of the TV stations grabbed me for an interview…as well as someone from the other group. And when I saw the video later, I was struck that my demeanor was calm, and my face was relaxed. My opponent on the other hand was scowling and the anger was palpable. I credit God and my prayer for making me lighter and making me look good on TV.

We all have that ability to be a person others see as radiating the love of God. We can all pray like Solomon and seek the wisdom that brings our hearts and minds closer to God. And the more we allow God into us…allow God to claim and reshape all our being…the brighter we will shine for others who are still searching.

Ideally…we would be having a Eucharist…so that we can physically partake in this moment of John’s Eucharistic discourse…with bread and wine…the body and blood of Christ…and experience bringing God into our bodies.

But we what we do have is God in our midst…through our prayers and our worship.

We do have God dwelling in us which can be seen in the ways each of us in this community care for one another and have concern for each other. Through our prayers and worship, we can continue growing in our relationship with God and giving Jesus a chance to renew our hearts and minds as we meet the challenges before us.  

May our lights keep shining brightly so that others may see and come to know God in Christ through us.

+ In the name of God…Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

 

 

The Love That Makes Us Free

I’m in the middle of a class right now on the life and writings of the theologian and mystic Howard Thurman. Thurman is one of the leading religious thinkers in 20^th century American Christianity. He was born and raised in Daytona Beach, Florida, and was the first African-American to complete eighth grade there and go on to high school in Jacksonville. His father had died when he was a boy, and his mother had to work to support the family so his maternal grandmother helped to raise him and his two sisters.  And it was this lady, his grandmother, Nancy Ambrose, who pointed Thurman to Jesus.

Ambrose was born into slavery in north Florida. She couldn’t read or write, so Thurman would read the psalms and the Gospels to her. She never wanted to hear Paul’s Letters…because white preachers on the plantation would only cite Paul’s words about slaves obeying their masters. In the hands of these preachers, the Bible became a weapon.

But Ambrose told him that…once a month…a black preacher…a fellow slave from another plantation would come preach to them. And it was that preacher who spoke the truth: he said, “You’re not slaves: you are precious in the eyes of God as God’s own children.” Thurman said when his Grandma Nancy would tell this story, her spine would straighten up as that deep profound love of God filled her body with self-worth.

It was from this preacher…Ambrose learned to distinguish for herself the difference between liberty and freedom. She taught Thurman that liberty is what someone else gives you. BUT freedom was the love of God found within yourself.

It’s too bad that Paul’s Letters left such a rotten taste in her mouth because today’s portion from his Letter to the Romans confirms that same message of what it means to be free.

We hear from Paul that there is nothing…absolutely nothing…that will separate us from the love of God. God’s love has no borders or boundaries…cannot be legislated or segregated. It is higher than mountains and lower than the seas. It is the coolest most refreshing drink to sustain us on the hottest most humid days of life.

And we can’t earn it because it just is. If we allow ourselves to feel loved that strongly, that deeply, that much…Yowse, my friends! That’s freedom! That’s power! For you, for me, for everybody.

 Acknowledging and accepting that God has loved us, does love us, and will always love us wipes away fear.

Fear is what motivates those in positions of power to act in ways that hurt and devalue another person.

Fear is what paralyzes us from taking action to help somebody.

Fear is what starves us of the Love that frees us.

If God is for us…whether we are the powerful or the powerless…than who can be against us?

Nobody. Love gives us freedom from fear and puts us in right relationship with each other.

I think that’s critical to our Gospel lesson as well. As the commentators note…what Jesus is telling us about the kingdom of heaven is we can find it in things like a trash tree…or in this case…a trash bush. Seriously: farmers in the First Century who had laid out perfect rows for their crops wouldn’t have been happy to have a mustard bush growing like kudzu in their field!

And that’s Jesus’ point: The kingdom of God is about a love that is wild and free…disorderly and disruptive.

It’s the love of unwanted leaven that makes an amazing sourdough. It’s a love that gives up old habits, and former beliefs, to gain something new and greater.

It’s a free love found in little things, ordinary things, unwanted things.

And notice that when he asks, “Do you get it?” everyone tells Jesus, “Oh, yeah, we understand what you mean, man!” 

But…did they really?

Do we really understand how deeply God loves that even a trash tree symbolizes the kingdom of God?

Have we grown so used to the order of the way things are that we can’t even imagine how they should be? 

I think at a time of this viral pandemic…that’s a pressing question for the Episcopal Church, not just St. Thomas, but the broader Episcopal Church.

Right after the Fourth of July, three Episcopal priests…the Reverends Winnie Varghese, Stephanie Spellers, and Canon Kelly Brown Douglas…released a letter called “Speaking of Freedom.” It was an open letter to our denomination. These women, distinguished leaders and preachers…two of them Black and one of South Indian descent, placed the challenge before us as Episcopalians to address our history as the church of the powerful…and the slave-owners. 

Their letter calls on us to be the baptized beloved community we say we want to be. Really fulfill the promises we make with each baptism to resist evil, return to God, and respect the dignity of EVERY human being.

The truth is we often don’t do those things.

We all fall short of living into and promoting the freedom found in the Love of God.

What would it be like for the Episcopal Church to fully show up for Jesus?

Tap into our inner freedom that knows the love of God’s kingdom is like that unwanted mustard seed growing big and wild in that otherwise ordered field.

These women of our church are challenging us: can we white Episcopalians yearn enough for Jesus and God’s message of radical inclusion to let go of the things that keep us separated from our siblings of color…and finally live fully into our baptismal covenant so that we can be free?

Good news! I’ve seen it happening.

White Episcopalians I’ve known in Tallahassee who never spoke out on any social justice issue are now posting links to anti-racism resources on Facebook.

I’ve seen videos of white friends joining in marches right here down Remington Avenue for Black Lives Matter. I call such actions praying with one’s feet.

Paul has already declared to us that God loves us beyond all human comprehension with a love that frees us in such a way that nothing can stop us. This is the love that empowers us and frees us to have the courage to look closely and critically at our church’s history. Such an examination may feel disruptive and uncomfortable. But God is for us. And like that unruly mustard seed…such a push for an honest examination will grow a healthier, more vibrant, more loving Episcopal Church.

And so we pray,

O God of peace, open our hearts, guide us in your path, and lead us as your children to live more freely and fully into your commandment to love one another as Jesus has loved us. For it is in the loving that doubt and fears give way to faith and hope. Trusting in you and your love, we are made free.

(To see the service and hear the sermon, click HERE. Make sure it's for July 26th.) 

Will This Pride End the Prejudice?

This is an historic weekend for the LGBTQ+ community. President Barack Obama has designated the Stonewall Inn, a once-seedy little gay bar in New York City’s Greenwich Village, into a national monument as we mark the 47^th anniversary of the uprising that started our modern day gay rights movement. Pride parades held across the country and all over the world saw marriage proposals (we hit the one year anniversary of that law in America on Sunday) and joy and presidential candidates marching with us. OK, just one presidential candidate who happens to be a woman.

There are 49 Florida flags, flying for 49 days, to honor the victims of the attack on Pulse nightclub. There is no mention anywhere about the intersection of these being mostly gay, Latinx people.

And there was the recognition that our celebrations are still happening in a world where a person can kill forty-nine people out having fun at a gay nightclub, and elected officials and church leaders struggle mightily with identifying the victims as members of the Latinx LGBTQ community. If it were any other minority group, would there be this reluctance?

These past couple of weeks, I have been fortunate to be immersed in my community of the Mickee Faust Club, a collection of artistic misfits of all kinds who come together to make the smartest and most relevant theater seen on any stage in this country. 

Faustkateers gathering before the start of a performance.

Our “Queer as Faust 9” cabaret couldn’t have come at a more needed time as we honored the dead and wounded by continuing to live out loud and proud and rejecting the political narrative that what happened at Pulse was about terrorism. Instead, we named the oppression we continue to live under in Florida that has been propped up and supported by the very people who stood in front of TV cameras and talked about the “victims” and seeking justice for “the victims” without acknowledging the most important intersection of their victimhood: they were…almost all of them…gay!

The tears are now drying up, and I can feel myself moving into the next level of processing my grief around this hate crime. I admitted to my spiritual director that attempting to keep up with my regular routine of prayer was greatly challenged. Tragedies such as Pulse are so horrid that one really does wonder, “And where were you, God?!”

I have asked this question before, and I’ve often encouraged other people not to be afraid to ask that question because if there’s any entity that can take a painful and agonized and angry cry of “Where are you?!?!” it’s God.

For me, the answer is that God was also being gunned down that night in a hail of bullets.

God was in Brenda Lee Marquez McCool, who put herself in front of her son to protect him and ultimately gave up her life.

God was in the bouncer who rushed people to the staff exit door, saving at least 50 people.

God was in the first responders who both surrounded the club and helped get the wounded to a nearby hospital.

God was in the surgeons, some of whom have had war time experience, who saved the lives of all the wounded.

God has appeared and emerged in many ways in this period. There is “not so religious” way of finding laughter and connections with Faustkateers as we each grappled in our own ways with grief. 

Modern Major General cast from "Queer As Faust 9." 

There is the out pouring of love from people at St. Thomas, a community that has been friendly enough toward me since I’ve been with them, but a few of them have intentionally sought me out the past two Sundays to hug me. And, when I was cyberstalked by an unstable person last week, there was an immediate online uprising of friends who wanted to let me know that they had my back. And one of them, a former newspaper bureau chief, made the observation that it is no longer OK for the straight community to sit on the sidelines and let us queer folk defend ourselves. It is time for them to also call out homophobia when they see it, and not allow bullies to get in a few licks before they step into the ring with us.

But this also goes beyond good feelings and seeing posts online. The deaths of 49 LGBTQ+ people cannot just be about words. There must be action. At all levels and in all corners of the country, in city halls and state houses, and Congressional chambers, and the White House. And—yes—even in the churches, and synagogues, and mosques, and temples, and Wiccan circles.

The gospel lesson in the Monday morning daily office was from Matthew and it was what I’ve been thinking about lately. Jesus, upon arriving in Jerusalem, sees that the Temple has become a center of commerce instead of a place of prayer, and he goes wild, kicking over tables, sending money and doves flying. This is when activist Jesus has had all he can take of how the people have debased the holy, and he displays a righteous rage which upsets the order of the day. And he doesn’t care because the order was out-of-order.

We have been out-of-order when it comes to the LGBTQ+ community. Like all groups that do not fit into the category of “majority,” it’s easy to forget that I can still be fired from a job, or denied housing, or refused services because I am a lesbian. Florida and the nation have refused to pass bills to make us a protected class. Instead, they adopt “religious freedom” laws to give cover to people who want to use their religious beliefs to justify discrimination. Or they pass “bathroom bills” to require transgender and gender-queer people to produce proof of their biological sex in order to use a public restroom. While there have been religious leaders who have spoken out against these laws, there have been many who have insisted they need them. And then they wonder why the LGBTQ+ community might be a little leery of their expressions of thoughts and prayers during a time of tragedy.

If there can be any good out of this horrible event, maybe it will be the work of God to open the hearts and minds of those on their knees in prayer…and soliciting our support this election…to quit being the stumbling blocks to our full humanity and not just tolerate us but recognize and accept us as part of the mosaic of God’s human creation. Pope Francis has called on the Roman Catholic Church to apologize to the LGBTQ+ community for the centuries of mistreatment and seek forgiveness. While that might be great PR for the Pope, I want to see the Roman Catholic Church not only apologize and seek forgiveness; I want it to repent of its attitude toward our community, quit with the fear that seems tied to the rejection of “the flesh” and understand that “the flesh” is the container for “the spirit” while it is here in this realm. Hating on the body seems to be a root cause for the animosity toward LGBTQ+ people. We are so “earthy” because our identity is tied to our sexuality. Has the Church forgotten to teach that our sexual selves are also gifts from God and should be celebrated and treated with honor and glory?

The common theme I have had running in my head for more than a week comes from Psalm 80: “Restore us, O God of hosts; show the light of your countenance and we shall be saved.”

Come, Holy Spirit, come.

Icons and Idols

Children protesting against the League of the South's pro-Confederate flag demonstration in Tallahassee, Martin Luther King, Jr. weekend.

It's been awhile since I've posted here, and not because I haven't been thinking, pondering, praying, and wanting to post. I simply don't have a lot of time to sit and organize coherent thoughts into a blog. My prayer life lately has involved some deep and amazing dips into the pool of the vast waters of God. And perhaps that has kept me from writing as well. So here goes nothing as I attempt to explain this title of "Icons and Idols."

A few weeks ago, over the Martin Luther King, Jr. holiday weekend, the League of the South, some of them donning black shirts with white supremacist logos, were out in front of the Florida Capitol building waving their Stars and Bars flags. Apparently, there is legislation to ban the flag from being flown over public buildings. If you are from outside the United States, or simply have managed not to hear any of the history of this controversy, the so-called "Confederate Flag" has been held up as a symbol of Southern heritage; however this particular design of the flag really came into vogue when "Southern heritage" meant fighting against desegregation in the 1950s and 60s. This was not their battle flag used during the Civil War when the South rebelled against the United States from 1861-65. The people who seem to be the most attached to this flag also seem to be the most anti-government, anti-immigrant, anti-gay, anti-black, anti-Jew...basically "anti" anything that isn't considered part of "white" culture. 

A young woman in Tallahassee got wind of their demonstration and in 48-hours gathered a bunch of us to be counter demonstrators. She had asked that we American flags to our rally. This was interesting because the people gathered in our group were not your typical "rah rah" America types. We took up a position on the opposite side of the busy intersection of Monroe and Apalachee Parkway, each side competing to see who would get the attention of drivers passing by. It was all pretty tame as protests go. Our group of 25 people couldn't get it together to sing any of the old standard Civil Rights songs to save our lives, but we smiled and waved and held our two fingers up in the peace sign. Then the guy from the League of the South dared to taunt us by calling out the presence of the American flag in our group.

"When I see that Yankee rag, I see prison bars!" he bellowed.

I couldn't believe what I'd just heard. "Yankee rag"? Seriously?! For the first time in my life, every patriotic mitochondria in my body started firing up as I shouted back across the road:

"I PLEDGE ALLEGIANCE TO THE FLAG OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA!!"

And our group of counter demonstrating social justice activists fell into the familiar grade school cadence of the pledge:

"AND TO THE REPUBLIC FOR WHICH IT STANDS...ONE NATION...UNDER GOD...INDIVISIBLE...WITH LIBERTY AND JUSTICE FOR ALL!!" 

Had we really just said the pledge with that much gusto and true feeling? Do we really feel that much deep attachment to a flag? And what is up with the hanging on so tightly by so many to the Stars and Bars? The Civil War was over 150 years ago. How can anyone still be saying the United States is an occupier of the southeastern United States?

I know that the pledge rings hollow for those who still are feeling like the left behind and the disenfranchised in this country. That was me, too, not that long ago. When I was in junior high and we had to stand each morning to recite the pledge, I would respectfully stand, and say nothing. I didn't understand pledging allegiance to a flag. Shouldn't we pledge allegiance to something a little more than sewn fabric? Later, as I came out, I felt that pledge was like another broken promise. "Liberty and justice" was for some, but definitely wasn't available to all. 

But when faced with such hatred of the symbol of this flawed and imperfect union, even I was willing to rally in defense of what I believe this nation yearns to be: a place where people are able to gather on street corners in support and dissent of the country and have that freedom without the need to resort to bombing each other. I can hope the four bloody years of our ancestors killing each other during the Civil War might have taught us not to know war between each other that way again. And yet, there are some who press on as if we are still at war. Sigh.

Perhaps it was that experience of reciting the pledge with patriotic fervor that has also helped to take my prayer life in a further move toward God. Because even while I was shouting at the League of the South, my burning passion was for the words of the pledge and I was longing for them to lay down their sesquicentennial grudge, and realize that the war is over. 

In so many ways, I think, this is part of what our Presiding Bishop Michael Curry is encouraging us to see in the words and actions of Jesus of Nazareth. Jesus longed for his fellow Jews of his day to see that the way to eternal life was through loving more, paying attention to their neighbors more, putting God first more and not making idols of rituals that had become more important than the actual thing for which the ritual was intended to celebrate. 

And even Jesus seems to desire that we not get fixated on him, the human being, but to see through him the way to that Eternal which gives life. This is really the purpose of icons, such as The Trinity by Andrei Rublev. The Russian monk and iconographer designed this as a means by which people may gaze and see God through the art and enter into prayer, which is our line to the One. I happened on this image as I prepped for the 12:10 service at St. John's last Friday. As I looked into those heads all bent in each other's direction and their blue tunic connection, my mind went back to verse from John's gospel:

Jesus said to them, ‘Very truly, I tell you, the Son can do nothing on his own, but only what he sees the Father doing; for whatever the Father does, the Son does likewise.--John 5:19

These words had been part of Morning Prayer the Wednesday before and as I heard them, I had a revelation of the "both/and" nature of this statement. When we hear the phrase "Son of Man" (or, in this case, it was "Son of God") this is both about Jesus and humanity. Humanity has the chance, especially through following in the footsteps of Jesus, to be at one with God, who is the source of life. This "life" goes beyond the day-to-day arguments over flags, and asks us to tap into our interconnectedness with all things and people. My own belief and placing my own life in the stream of this Great Consciousness is, I think, the reason that while I shouted the Pledge of Allegiance with conviction, it wasn't out of pure anger, but out of a place of sorrow and frustration for the breakdown that leads someone to cling desperately to a past that is no longer the future. That, to my mind, is the path toward death and not life. 

I don't hate those who hate me. My work with the Prayer for Our Enemies has been about teaching me to see the anger and rage that is within me and aimed at me, and deflect it without letting it become the thing that penetrates my heart. This is how I bend my head, and knee, to Jesus. This is how the power of God working in me can help me--like Jesus--do infinitely more than I can ask or imagine. 

Wedding Day

This is the day that the Lord has made

We will rejoice and be glad in it

Those simple and yet profoundly loving words have been in my head all day as I bounce between the emotions of excitement and fear like a tennis ball being volleyed back and forth. Every time I start to feel anxiety, I can hear these words in the sweet, even slightly out of tune singing of children who nonetheless give the song all the gusto imaginable to fill the space of a church sanctuary. 

This is the day that the Lord has made for sure!

Today's readings for the daily Morning office were from Deuteronomy and Titus. Those aren't really my favorite books of the bible, and the lesson from the former is some of that violent language that often puts people off reading Scripture. God is going to allow the Israelites to pummel the people's around them, and destroy their Gods etc. etc. If I were to read that all literally, I would find it...well, depressing and nasty and awful. 

But today I read it and thought about all those who have... and are still in some places... standing in the way and attempting to block the sun from shining on me and the others like me who are part of the LGBTQI community. Instead of a literal, physical destruction, what I read in the words of the Deuteronomist was the confirmation of things I have believed about God for some time now: namely, God will never abandon me or the other "queer" people. Our time of oppression was not ignored, nor was it the design of God. This was a very hard thing for me to hang on to back in November of 2008 when Florida voters so cruely implemented Amendment Two which banned same-sex couples from marriage. I felt greatly challenged in my belief. And yet, the remembrance of that feeling and sensation I experienced on the day of my "wake up call" told me that as horrible and awful and bleak as I felt and as vicious as the world was feeling at that time, I must not let go of the belief that God is watching and will work God's purpose out, and that Jesus Christ, my brother in struggle, would be with me even now. Especially now. 

As I look into the face of my partner of 23+ years, I will be reminded that Love is the only truth and it is made evident not only in her willingness to commit to me, but in the support of all who are in attendance and the messages from those who will be unable to be with us for one reason or another. I will think on the power of Love as we say, "I do," and slip wedding rings onto each other's fingers. Love is the source of life. My life: my queer, crazy, not-always-perfect life.  

This is the day that the Lord has made

We will rejoice and be glad in it!

Holy Week in July

You've heard of sales advertising Christmas in July, right?  Well, when you read the daily morning office in the Episcopal Church, it's Holy Week in July! 

For the past couple of weeks, the Scriptures have been the telling of the Passion Gospel according to Matthew.  It's always a little strange to be in the midst of what we call "ordinary time" and then have readings from the "anything but ordinary" story that's told in the moment of Christ's willingness to lay down everything, including his life, to follow God's will.  But I think it's important during these summer months in the South that feel like central casting's idea of Hell that we have this reminder that "ordinary time" is the terminology of the church; nothing in the journey with God is really "ordinary."  Christ's act of love, an act that we are to emulate by loving in His same extravagant way, doesn't take a summer vacation.

What struck me as interesting in this visit with the Passion narrative was my encounter with the part where Jesus is brought before Caiphus the High Priest.  This is a role I've read twice before on Palm Sunday, each time making sure that my reading doesn't trip over into melodrama, but does convey the anger and the accusatory tone that is in the text.  Lectors in church are normally encouraged to remain passionless as they read which bleeds over into the Palm Sunday reading of the Passion.  But I find that to be a terrible mistake.  This moment is tense, and intense, and to read it like it's a dinner menu doesn't give the listeners a chance to be immersed in this story.

And that's exactly what happened to me last week as I read aloud Caiphus' quizzing of Christ, "Tell us if you are the Messiah, the Son of God?"   As I said, I have read those words again and again.  But as they left my lips this time, I could hear in my own voice that I have been just as defiant and demanding of God.  My 2014 has felt weighted down with grief from death upon death of my mother and friends and colleagues.  I have experienced loss of some clients with my move to a new location.  I have grieved the separation from my community at St. John's (necessary as it was), and the constant questions that come around when people want to know why I am not attending church there any more.  I have wrestled with pain at my elbow, a difficulty for one working in a profession that requires physical strength that puts stress on my joints, and a reminder that my body needs care, too.   As I read those words aloud, I could hear behind my reading my own demand:

"If you are the Messiah, then what the fuck, man?!  Why do I feel so alone?  Where are you?!?! What are you doing to me?!"   

This isn't what Caiphus was driving at exactly, but it was the underlying attitude I heard in my voice.  In this moment, during this "ordinary time," I realized that I was pissed off.  

These are the kinds of conversations that I can really only have with God.  Any time a human being, be it a friend who is ordained or not, attempts to help me discern these questions, they invaribly fail.  Not because they don't mean well, but because there is no tidy solution and easy answer.  And, even more importantly, this is my complaint, my wrestling match, my moment to duke it out with God, and there is no room for another who has her or his own gym bag filled with complaints to work out with the Holy Spirit.  At a time like this, I find it simpler to get away from others and engage God myself, without human interference.   I have done this before.  This is what the trips to the labyrinth in Gainesville were all about.  Or the trips to the base of Cannon Mountain in New Hampshire.  But, without the benefit of either of those two thin places,  I just needed to sit in prayer.  My spiritual director sent me a Mary Oliver poem.  It gave me something to ponder:

"What do you want me to do with this one wild and precious life?"

The answers have been coming in a cavalcade of dinosaurs, my symbolism of God's call on my life.  For those who don't know the story, my mentor and friend, Mtr. Lee Shafer, dared me to ask God for a sign of whether I'm called to the sacramental priesthood.  She pointed to a gecko running along the steps of St. John's.

"You could ask God to show you a lizard," she said.

"No, I won't.  There are too many of them around."

Sitting in my car in the parking lot and pondering what I might ask for, I arrived at what I thought would be the fail safe image.

"If you want me to be a priest in the church, show me a dinosaur!"  Ha! I knew that was impossible.

But then, what is the line, "for nothing is impossible with God"?   Two to three days after I put that out there, I was sitting in a booth at a local restaurant, staring at one of the TVs.  At a commercial break, a huge T-Rex filled the screen, announcing that "the dinosaurs were coming to the Leon County Civic Center!"   I took a sharp in-take of breath.  No one around me knew what was going on, but as I watched many more dinosaurs wander around on the TV screen, I thought, "No!! You can't be serious?!" 

Very serious.  Dinosaurs have cropped up in conversations, and at many different times and occasions when I am engaged in what might be called "theological reflection."  Even on my first visit to Sewanee with Lee and her husband, during a "Law and Order" fest on the TV, a commercial break featured a T-Rex running across the screen.  I bolted straight upright in my chair.

"Nooo!!  NO!!!!" 

And Mtr. Lee just laughed and laughed.

"You saw a dinosaur!" she chuckled, "and it was at Sewanee!" 

And they're back.  Even more than just the presence of the dinosaurs has been my sense of what it is to be a Presence to people in crisis.  Friends just as wracked with doubt and grief as me have been turning to me recently, and I can feel my self being lifted up out of the way to find the right balance between words, and actions, and listening deeply to what they're saying.  The theologian Henri Nouwen makes the case that Christian leadership, and the ministry needed today, is for leaders who are willing to enter into the suffering of another.  The one who is capable of serving another is the person who is sitting among those at the gate, carefully binding up her own wounds as she prepares to offer that service of binding to someone else.  

"The spirit of The Lord is upon me," says the prophet Isaiah.  I feel those words.

Which then brings us back to the readings for the daily office and the constant reminder that Jesus came not to be served, but to serve.  His is the blueprint for our lives if we are willing to drink from that cup, and accept that we have been baptized both into his death and resurrection.  

Who says this is ordinary time? 

   

 

Bread for the Journey

There is a book that sits on a table in our bedroom waiting for me to read it.  It's the spiritual memoir of Sara Miles called, "Take This Bread."  It's the story of how this atheist, left-leaning former journalist, lesbian stumbled into a church one day, received the Eucharist, and underwent a radical transformation that led to a journey of feeding all kinds of people and not in a one-time, "Here's a sandwich" sort of way, but a constant feeding of the multitudes of those who are going hungry in this country of plenty.

I thought of this book as I read through today's daily office readings for the morning on this, the ninth day of Christmas.  We have moved beyond the major saintly feast days, and since I don't do the "Saint of the Day" readings for the many minor saints, martyrs and prophets as assigned through Holy Women/Holy Men, I had the chance to read and reflect on the story of Elijah on the run from Jezebel and being directed by an angel to eat cake baked on hot stones and John's account of Jesus' miracle of the feeding of the five thousand.  And as I read these two passages, I was reminded that Miles' book awaits me for whenever I am done reading the multiple books assigned for the Education for Ministry program.  I look forward to it.  Mostly because Miles' introduction to a new life driven by Christianity begins with the bread of the Eucharist, which we believe is the embodiment of Christ.  It was taking in this bread that led to her change of heart.  And that is the theme that I see in both readings from this morning.  

Naturally, the cake Elijah consumed was not identified as Christ.  But I am mostly interested in that the cake baked on stones comes when Elijah, feeling scared and alone in the wilderness, lies down under a broom tree begging for God to just kill him and get it over with.  Instead, he gets roused by an angel who instructs him to eat the cake and drink the water that is there.  He does so once, and then laid down again.  No, no--this won't do.  So, the angel, again, wakes him up and tells him to eat again--"Get up and eat otherwise the journey will be too much for you." (1 Kings 19:7).  That's the phrase that stood out for me as I read through this and continued on to the selected passage from John, where five thousand feasted upon the bread and fish provided on a grassy plain.  I thought about the people who were fed to their heart's content, so that they can journey on.  I think this is the lesson to be pulled from these two readings: if we are to survive the journey, and not have it overwhelm us, we have to be fed.  This nourishment comes through the bread and wine of Eucharist; it becomes extended to others in our willingness to take our full selves to meet others who need to be fed.  Sometimes, this is a literal distribution of food to those who need it.  Sometimes, this is the willingness to enter into the place where somebody is in their suffering and pain and be present to that.  Sometimes, it is the ability to put our own suffering and pain on hold to share in the joy and celebration of another.  Always, this should be the out growth of having received the body and blood which is the symbolism of life, light, and Love.

For this Ninth Day of Christmas, I want to commit myself to living as one who is fed, both literally in this land of plenty, and spiritually as one who is striving to keep on a path with God.  I know that, for me, I must partake in the Eucharist as this is the food that supplies the energy to my cells so that I can continue to offer what gifts I have to others.  It is the bread for this journey called Life.  And it helps me to remain alive to the world around me.  

Advent Antiphon

O come, thou Wisdom from on high,
who orderest all things mightily;
to us the path of knowledge show,
and teach us in her ways to go. 

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel!

We're in that period of "O" in Advent as in the beginning of using the verses from "O Come, O Come Emmanuel" as antiphons.  This is the period of Sapientia, meaning wisdom or discernment.  Fitting at this time as our Collect of the Day (which becomes a Collect of the Week) is calling on God to stir up God's power and with great might come among us.  I'll just say, "Be careful what you ask for!"  Certainly, if we are going to ask for such a thing, we must also do so with a willingness to be ready to get knocked around on our way to more wisdom as our foolishness gets brought to light.

We're also in a period of rejoicing.  In many parts of the Episcopal Church, there's been a trend toward lighting a rose or pink-colored candle on the Advent wreath for the third Sunday in the season.  This marks a break in these days of awe for Christians as we've been getting the message from John the Baptist to "Repent!!!" and being reminded that we are to keep awake because nobody knows the hour that the Son of Man is coming.  The Advent readings are edgy and provocative.  They certainly have been leaving me with a lot to think about and consider and--yes--even repent.  Nothing like having Jesus getting all up-in-your-face with his "Woe to you!" tirade to realize that I am just as much a hypocrite at times as those who he was dressing down in that moment many centuries ago.  Time to wash the inside of the cup, and not just the outside.

So, as I've said, I am happy to get a bit of break with the Advent antiphons for Morning Prayer.  I'm especially pleased to welcome in the wisdom, and the discernment, as I prepare my own way for the re-entry of Christ into the midst of the world.  He is a game-changer, and I better be ready to play.  

Troubled Spirit and Advent Respite

When he entered the temple, the chief priests and the elders of the people came to him as he was teaching, and said, ‘By what authority are you doing these things, and who gave you this authority?’ Jesus said to them, ‘I will also ask you one question; if you tell me the answer, then I will also tell you by what authority I do these things. Did the baptism of John come from heaven, or was it of human origin?’ And they argued with one another, ‘If we say, “From heaven”, he will say to us, “Why then did you not believe him?” But if we say, “Of human origin”, we are afraid of the crowd; for all regard John as a prophet.’ So they answered Jesus, ‘We do not know.’ And he said to them, ‘Neither will I tell you by what authority I am doing these things.
 ‘What do you think? A man had two sons; he went to the first and said, “Son, go and work in the vineyard today.” He answered, “I will not”; but later he changed his mind and went. The father went to the second and said the same; and he answered, “I go, sir”; but he did not go. Which of the two did the will of his father?’ They said, ‘The first.’ Jesus said to them, ‘Truly I tell you, the tax-collectors and the prostitutes are going into the kingdom of God ahead of you. For John came to you in the way of righteousness and you did not believe him, but the tax-collectors and the prostitutes believed him; and even after you saw it, you did not change your minds and believe him.--Matt 21:23-32

The "grabbing by the Gospel" continues in my world as I put one 

foot in front of the other this Advent, journeying toward that moment 

of Christ's arrival into the world.   It seems last year, I was having 

the most difficult time getting into the season at all.  This year, I'm 

feeling immersed in this sense of great uncertainty.  A good garden 

in which to plant and grow Advent awareness.  For the record, I am 

a lousy gardener, so all the more reason for me to have a sense of 

uncertainty.

The quoted passage from Matthew was our Gospel text from yesterday's

Morning Prayer.  I wasn't leading, so I was able to sit in quiet, and 

listen to our presider wend his way through this portion of the story as

Jesus is becoming more and more confrontational in Jerusalem.  I closed 

my eyes and let the words fall like rain upon the garden in my head.  

I am familiar enough with this moment when Jesus' actions are rattling

the cages of the comfortable and religious authorities.  Those cages 

have served them well, and to step beyond their doors would, in their

minds, be their undoing.  They demand to know "by what authority"

he's flipping over tables and releasing doves in the Temple.  "Authority" 

is a big deal to these caged people.  It often is.  Of course, Jesus

puts them inside another cage by the question he puts to them about 

John the Baptizer's baptism.  In fact, they are so locked in that they admit

that they can't answer the question.  

And then comes the part that made me sit up and take notice.  Jesus tells 

the story of the two sons; the one who says he's not going to go

to work, but does anyway, and the one who says he will, and then 

never shows up.  Who's done the better part?  Well, naturally, it's the

first one, his antagonists say.  Then, here it comes:

‘Truly I tell you, the tax-collectors and the prostitutes are 

going into the kingdom of God ahead of you. For John came 

to you in the way of righteousness and you did not believe him, 

but the tax-collectors and the prostitutes believed him; and 

even after you saw it, you did not change your minds and 

believe him. 

My eyes popped open.  I have probably heard this passage a few dozen times

or more in my recent experience, but this time, what came to me was a

phrase from Psalm 51:

The sacrifice of God is a troubled spirit;

A broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.

The most despised people, outside of maybe the Samaritans, were 

those who collected taxes for the Roman Emperor.  Many of them were

Jews, which made them even more horrible.  Prostitutes, too, were "others"

in that society.  So, here you have the ridiculed and the ostracized, the

perpetual losers in the eyes of the very righteous... and Jesus is basically

saying, "They may be the dregs, but they know they're broken, and they

believed.  But you, my religious friends, are still seeing only the 'authority' 

that prevents you from getting to God."

I have been feeling like one with a troubled spirit.  The other day, I finally 
was able to get through on the government's Healthcare.gov website.
I have been highly skeptical about what type of coverage I'd be able to get
under the Affordable Care Act.  After so many fill-in-this, choose-this, 
answer this, computer screens, I reached the place where I could see 
the plans and what they would cost.

I could not believe my eyes!  With a tax credit courtesy of the Obama 
administration, there were a number of plans available at less than $80/month.
 That's unheard of, normally!

But no sooner had I finished wiping away tears of joy from the thought that I 
could finally afford insurance, my partner informed me that if we go through 
with a plan to get married next year, our incomes would be combined, and I 
would, therefore, no longer qualify for the tax credit; hence, I'd be denied 
health insurance again because, on paper, I would have too much money.  

Her conclusion?  Don't get married. 

Tears of joy gave way to wailing--and I mean a deep-throated wailing--over 
the continued signs of discrimination in our society.  If we were straight, 
this wouldn't be an issue because she works for the state, and I'd likely
have been on her plan from the beginning and would have no need
for Obamacare.  And, because we live in a state that hates its LGBTQI 
population, there is no way that a state employee, married to their 
spouse of the same gender, can tap into this benefit for their
beloved.  And thus is the life of a queer in the southeastern United
States.

And so, this is the troubled spirit that is meeting the Gospel readings
from Matthew in the morning.  I come with this broken and contrite heart,
filled with bitterness toward a state and a nation...and even a church...
that demands I fit into their "marriage norm" at a huge cost to myself.  
And here Christ meets me in this place and says, "Yeah.  I get it!  Stick with me!"  
This Christ feels my anguish, and reminds me, the "other," that I am part
of a legacy of "others" who have been despised by those of "the norm" 
and yet we are closer to the source of Love.  Does it change the here
and now?  Not in a literal sense, no.  Does it change my reaction to my
here and now so it doesn't dominate me?  Yes, it has the potential to do that.
Does that free my from getting trapped in a cage with those who only want
to know "by whose authority"?  Absolutely!

There is only one light on the Advent wreath, but more candles will be added as a symbol of the growing enlightenment that can happen with Christ's entry into the 
world and into our lives.  May it be so is the eternal hope.