The Body Doesn't Lie

This has been a week of great reflection, in part because of the funeral I attended on Tuesday.  The New Testament reading was from Paul's Second Letter to the Corinthians in which the saint is talking about our soul's desire to unite with God and shed this body we live in:

For while we are still in this tent, we groan under our burden, because we wish not to be unclothed but to be further clothed, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up by life. He who has prepared us for this very thing is God, who has given us the Spirit as a guarantee.--2 Cor. 5:4-5

I guess the Spirit, then, becomes like a winter coat or a sweater providing us with the further warmth and protection from the cold of the world over the layers we all ready have on.

What caught me in listening to this passage the other day was the phrase, "we groan under our burden."  I have done many massage sessions with people who are in some stage of grief.  Either they have lost a loved one, a job, a relationship, or they have stayed mum and haven't told me anything.  As I work the tissues of their body, there will not only be a physical release; sometimes, it's vocal.  And it sounds a bit like a groan. Not in pain because of what I'm "doing", but in the recognition that those things that are painful to our minds and our souls manifest in the body. 

Recently, I was working on a person who kept slipping in and out of sleep.   This person had been through a rough patch, and sleeping clearly was an important part of the healing.  When I got to the area of the heart, I heard it: the groan.  Soft, and like a heavy sigh.  How much this layer of skin, bones, and muscles was holding and protecting a heart that had been broken.  I held my position for a few minutes and allowed the body to grieve in its own way.  All the while, I silently repeated the Sanctus:

O Lamb of God, who takest away the sin of the world, have mercy upon us....

I watched my client's breathing as waves of sadness and sorrow came to the surface.

O Lamb of God who takest away the sin of the world, have mercy upon us...

Releasing, letting go.  In these moments, I can sometimes see tears roll down the cheeks.  Sometimes, the facial muscles begin to tighten as the person's mind suddenly picks up on what the body is doing and attempts to override.  But bodies have more wisdom, and they know that when they are allowed this opportunity to unleash their pent up emotions, they need to do it.  In the massage room, this is OK.  Out in the world, they must remain strong, vibrant, and always under the control of the brain.

O Lamb of God who takest away the sin of the world, grant us Thy peace...

Once there has been a release, indicated through another long and heavy groan, I know I can change my position and address new places in the body that are also aching and in need of a reminder that they are loved.

When I reflected on St. Paul's message to the church at Corinth, I was bothered by this idea that "the tent" was somehow getting in the way of the holy.  These are the beginnings of the misguided Christian doctrine that there is something "bad" about bodies.  For some people who have suffered illness or disability, the body may feel like its a prison or rebelling against the soul.  But it is truly the house, or tent, that maintains the soul.  And it can serve as a receptor to what I believe is holy: massage and therapeutic touch.  This contact that I make with clients is part of God's desire to continue having an every day presence in the world.  And there is nothing "bad" about that.

Thanks be to God for those people who have brains humble enough to allow their bodies that holy encounter.

When It Speaks, It Sings

This morning's reading from Isaiah was a balm for my soul:

The spirit of the Lord GOD is upon me,
because the LORD has anointed me;
he has sent me to bring good news to the oppressed,
to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim liberty to the captives,
and release to the prisoners;
to proclaim the year of the LORD's favor,
and the day of vengeance of our God;
to comfort all who mourn...

As noted here, two sets of friends experienced painful losses of loved ones this past week.  My gut desire has been to be with both of them, and care for them.  Give them a hug, listen to their grief; laugh, cry, roar at the world.   I can only do that by email and text message with one because distance separates us.  She and her family are in Texas.  And the funeral for Edna has been scheduled for the same day as the funeral for Ren, the son of my other friends who are here in Tallahassee.  I had been asked to participate in Ren's service which I agreed to immediately.  And my heart broke to know that I could not be in two places on the same day.

Oh, Star Trek: why have we not developed the transporter?

There are many of us in Tallahassee who wished that we could be in Texas because we love our friend and we loved Edna.  But if there is something I learned from the death of my father it is that the loss of a parent, a parent who showed that God-like quality of unconditional love, will rattle you to the core for some months to come.  And so my commitment is to be there for my friend not at the time of the funeral, but in those moments of feeling lost at sea after the funeral and the flowers and the cards have faded.

In the present nearness of my friends who are now missing Ren, I am there, too.  I can be there in body, as well as mind and spirit.  And they need love and comforting as well.  Lending a hand at the time of the funeral is part of that.  Being fully present with them in their grief is the priceless gift of binding the wounds of the brokenhearted.

They will be called oaks of righteousness,
the planting of the LORD, to display his glory.

In the past week, I also was afforded moments of joy.  Watching the mingling and laughing and the sweetness that pervades a PFLAG meeting helped make the heaviness of the week a little lighter.  And it, too, reminded me of this Isaiah passage.  PFLAG brings the good news to the oppressed and frees the captives in the prisons of self-loathing, the victims of the sin of rejection of God's queer children, and a constant reminder that we are all loved even when the world sometimes doesn't love us back.

I have witnessed that lack of love.  I have seen the faces of women who tell me the stories of how their parents have told them never to come home or bring "that lifestyle under my roof."  There is resignation in their voices as they insist that nothing will move their parents' hearts.  And when I think about young children and how they are so dependant on their parents and look at them as if they are the face of God, is it any wonder that a child rejected by a parent would then think this is God's own rejection of them?

For I the LORD love justice,
I hate robbery and wrongdoing;
I will faithfully give them their recompense,
and I will make an everlasting covenant with them.

In some ways, I believe that by bearing faithful witness to a different face of God, the one that DOES love justice and DOES love all created things, is an essential mission for me in this life.  People who have been hurt, burned by those who they thought would be with them through thick and thin, need to see that what the world is doing in their lives is not reflective of the love that God bestows on us.  They need to hear, see, taste that God hasn't abandoned them or turned away.  This happens through each of us who are commanded to love one another as we have been loved.  We are the ones who were once captives in our own prisons who are now able to live as free people.  Through us, God moves to work God's purpose out to continuously unlock the gates and bring the light to people who sit in darkness.  Not with Bible-thumping and strident screams of "Repent!" on street corners.  But by giving us the wisdom to be present in the pain of the world.

Stir up your power, O Lord, and with great might come among us....

May each of us who sense that power stirring allow the power to be our light in the world.

A Reflection on Mary

In our Education for Ministry seminar, we do an exercise of reflecting on Mary right before we take a break for the holidays.   Below is what finally came to me after a week of wrestling with this exercise... and sitting in a contemplative place before the start of our Advent Lessons and Carols.



Mary,

Without you, where would the story be?
A young girl, visited by an angel,
who announces you will bear the Son of God,
Emmanuel
God with us.
Enormous responsibility for anyone,
especially a teenaged girl.

You pondered these things in your heart.
What questions did you have?

We hear you asked,
“How can this be for I am a virgin?”

Mary,

Ave Maria…
Oy vey, Maria!
How the question of your Virgin Birth has vexed the scholars,
tested the theologians, and raised more questions.
Were you a virgin, or just a maiden? 
Does that matter?
The church has examined, debated, and lifted you up to heights hardly human.
You have been the comfort to many,
speaking words of wisdom
to those who would listen.
You have been the unattainable, unrealistic version of female,
the “forever a mother” standard.
Is it any wonder that when they see you now,
you are always in tears?

Mary,

in your own moment of truth,
you recited your ancestor Hannah’s prayer.
Praising God for raising the lowly
and scattering the proud.
Again, God had shown
a memory that stretches backward and forward
covering centuries
never forgetting God’s people
and calling on the least to do great things.


Mary,

without you, the story is not our story.
God came to be with us.
God came to us.
Through you, with you, and by you
we have a Savior born in our likeness
leading us to the one
who made us in the likeness of God.
Our circle completed with your consent.


Mary,

Sancta Maria, Theotokos.
Blessed be your place in this incredible story.

R.I.P Edna and Prayers Requested

If I only could hit the "reset" button.

Earlier this week, I learned of the tragic death of the son of a couple I have come to know and love from my church.  And no sooner had I learned of the funeral arrangements for Ren came the news that my best friend's mother was not doing well post-surgery.

This morning, she died in the hospital in Texas. 

Edna Galloway was a feisty Southern woman who loved to talk about politics and culture and serial killers.  She had a beautiful grin and almost looked like she and Eartha Kitt were separated at birth twins.  I enjoyed the times when I visited the Galloway's Ramshackle Ranch and sat at the bar in the kitchen drinking the coffee Edna had brewed (which her daughter Terry kept insisting she could give me something better!)  and listening to her stories, and what was on her mind... which inevitably would come 'round to why Texas was going to hell in a handbasket with Republican leadership.   She was a lot of fun, and she loved those who loved her daughters.  Paul, her husband who used to tease me with his love for the unloveable Dallas Cowboys, passed away a few years ago.  With the matriarch also gone, there will be a whole lotta space to fill at Ramshackle Ranch. 

My friend Terry is an atheist.  But I believe God loves those who do and do not believe.  And I am hoping that Edna has found her way to whatever is the next adventure after this realm.  Please pray for the Galloway family and their loved ones, as well as my church friends, the Starlings, and the loss of their son, Ren.

And can we please press the reset button.

Comfort, O Comfort My People...Four Years and Running

I remember when I became a Eucharistic Minister at St. John's, I was assigned to be the lector reading the lesson from Isaiah.  

Comfort, O comfort my people,
says your God.
Speak tenderly to Jerusalem,
and cry to her
that she has served her term,
that her penalty is paid,
that she has received from the LORD's hand
double for all her sins...

In many respects, as I reflect on the fourth anniversary of this blog, I am reflecting on the initial mission of this space.  I started it with the intention of sharing my journey and expressing my faith as a queer Christian.  My aim was to demystify gay people and press forward with the idea that a segment of the population often excluded by religious communities is often some of the most faithful clamoring to be allowed inside the gate. 

Every valley shall be lifted up,
and every mountain and hill be made low;
the uneven ground shall become level,
and the rough places a plain.
Then the glory of the LORD shall be revealed,
and all people shall see it together,
for the mouth of the LORD has spoken."

Since I started writing this blog, I have seen major shifts happening in the church and the world.  Indeed I keep sensing that valleys are being lifted up, hills made low.   Not everywhere.  Not in Florida necessarily.  But as the uneven ground continues to be made level, I see the glory of the Lord being revealed in the consecration of Mary Glasspool, and the decisions of dioceses in the state of New York to comply with same-sex marriage laws and allow for the blessings on couples who have waited decades in some cases to have their relationships made legitimate in the eyes of the state. 

Get you up to a high mountain,
O Zion, herald of good tidings;
lift up your voice with strength,
O Jerusalem, herald of good tidings,
lift it up, do not fear;
say to the cities of Judah,
"Here is your God!"

Yes, here is your God.  The one who comes on a cleared path, on a cloud descending, and with the intention of setting us all free.  Of course, Isaiah didn't know and wouldn't have known to speak of Jesus, and it does a disservice to the prophet to impose Christian teaching on his words.  But Jesus was the human embodiment of God's constant mission to free us and lead us into love if we would be willing to follow.  Queers who follow are doing so because there is incredible liberation in the love of God.  And the mantra, "Do not fear" is one that resonates strongly for LGBT Christians.  Do not let those who would try to plant a seed of doubt about your free entry into the kingdom get the best of you.  Not only do belong; you were never rejected by God.  Ever.

He will feed his flock like a shepherd;
he will gather the lambs in his arms,
and carry them in his bosom,
and gently lead the mother sheep.
 
As I keep journeying along with you, I hope that those who land on this page will experience through my writing the joy and the freedom that comes from opening up to the Divine.  I hope any negative statements or attempts to lead you away from God can be countered with the real message that you are already part of the kingdom.   Peace be with you.

Touchy Topic: Atheist and Black

I'm neither black nor am I an atheist. 

But I was very interested in the article in the New York Times from last weekend that talked about a minority-within-a-minority: African-Americans who do not profess a faith in God. 

Often times in this country, there is an almost inseparable link between the church and the local black community.  When I was working as a Technical Assistant Clerk in a predominantly African-American voting precinct, my fellow pollworkers would introduce themselves by giving their name, and any possible relations the other person might know... and then what church they attend.  I was only included in that ritual when they saw my Education for Ministry textbook that I had brought along for when I would have down time.   They'd look at it, be puzzled by it being in my possession, and then ask me, "What's your church?"   I'd tell them, and my affliliation would make me a little more real for them. Christ the ice breaker at a Leon County polling place!

One of the striking comments in the article was from the young man who came out as gay to his mother and when she tried to use the Bible to explain her problems with homosexuality, he told her he didn't care because he didn't believe in that stuff anymore.   For the mom, hearing that was more disturbing than hearing that her son is gay!

At long last... there is SOMETHING that is worse in the minds of some than homosexuality!

What struck me in that story was that the man didn't believe "in that stuff anymore" and that he is gay.  This is, sadly, all too common.  For some reason, believing in "that stuff" is seen as antithetical to being gay.  And the church has aided and abetted in pushing this as the inevitable conclusion for all LGBT people.  Those of us who refuse to accept this formula for separation from our creator, redeemer and sustainer then face other subtle forms of discrimination within the church. We are welcome to be in the pews, but the pulpit remains a thorny issue in some parts.  Announcements and thanksgiving for the rites of passage for heterosexual couples are celebrated openly while the milestones in the life of an LGBT couple remain unacknowledged or hidden.  

Such slights drive some to leave the church.  And sometimes those slights lead to the mistaken idea that God is the church.  And if the church is going to treat me as a second-class citizen, then God must think the same thing.  So, see ya, God!

My favorite theologian, Robert Capon, made the best statement to counter this misbelief:

"The truth that makes us free is always ticking away like a time bomb in the basement of everybody's church.  And that truth isn't a bunch of ideas.  It's Jesus.  Sooner or later, if we just sit still and listen, he'll blow the lid off of any prison we've built."

For those of us who are queer Christians, we are in the pews and we are being called to the pulpit because we have known the freeing power of being busted out of the jail of homophobia and the sin of exclusion.  God isn't the figment of our imagination; God is real and is empowering us not to become mere joiners of the institution, but to square up to the institution and call it back to God's ultimate mission: love, unbounded and never-ending.  I believe this is why there are a growing number of LGBT people who are coming out as people of faith.   At least in the white community.

Maybe the trend to toward humanism and atheism in the black community is a way to point out the error of the ways of the black church.  That the rampant homphobia that exists in black churches is sending the children packing... and turning their backs on God.  Perhaps atheism may be the way to shake up the theists in the African-American communities to repent and return to a message that Christ did indeed die for everyone.

Maybe God is working a purpose out....

A Reflection on World AIDS Day

My apologies to those of you who have made a habit of visiting this blog.  I've been so busy lately that I have very little time to think, let alone write anything.   But this morning, as I listened to the first portion of Psalm 18, I heard words that seemed appropriate for World AIDS Day:

The breakers of death rolled over me,     and the torrents of oblivion made me afraid. The cords of hell entangled me, and the snares of death were set for me. I called upon the Lord in my distress, and cried out to my God for help. He heard my voice from his heavenly dwelling; my cry of anguish came to his ears.
I found my mind recalling various faces of friends and acquaintances who have died of complications from HIV infection; of seeing the AIDS quilt, both laid out in near-fullness on the Mall in Washington, DC, in 1993... and a few panels at Holy Trinity Episcopal Church in Gainesville.  I thought about the shame heaped on those living with HIV, and how so many especially 30 years ago... would lose the love of their families as they lay dying in hospitals.  And I thought how these words sounded very much like the kind of prayer the persecuted patient might have been praying. Scientists have made huge breakthroughs in the 30 years with the antiretroviral drugs, but there are still almost 40-thousand new cases of HIV infection every year.  And there are those who cast all caution to the wind and intentionally go out to get infected, a phenomenon I simply don't understand. As I remember those who have died, I continue to pray that we will continue funding the research to work us toward eradicating HIV/AIDS here and abroad.