To Tell the Truth

 

At some point, I will stop living my life out of a suitcase. I spent the first few days of September at the Full and Equal Conference celebrating 50 years of LGBTQIA+ inclusion in The Episcopal Church. 

Of course, anyone who has followed this blog for any period of time will know that the story of our inclusion has not necessarily been full, and in some parts, far from equal. Thankfully, the organizers emphasized repeatedly that "this conference is not a victory lap, but a next leg of the race." 

It also came right at the moment when the wider liturgical church community had some important verses assigned from the Gospel of Matthew that fit with the theme of truth-telling. Because I was on such a time crunch and did NOT want to drag my laptop with me to Minneapolis, I wrote my sermon ahead of time....with the full expectation that what happened would happen: namely, I needed to do some revision and rewrite very early Sunday morning.

Here's the result. See what you think.

Text: Matt 18:15-20

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There’s a prayer in our Prayer Book credited to the Fourth Century Bishop John Chrysostom.

It contains the line that “when two or three are gathered together” in Jesus’s name, Jesus “will be in the midst of them.”

And to that…we say Thanks be to God!

Because in my experience when two or three people get together in the church…there’s liable to be conflict.

Conflict is just part of human nature.

We come from different backgrounds…with our different histories…different ideas of how to solve problems…all informed by the way we live and move in the world.

So some level of conflict is inevitable…not just in the church but in life.

How we handle it…and keep it from unnecessarily going from zero to 60 … is the focus of what we just heard from Jesus.

Our Gospel lesson this morning is often labeled in Bibles as Jesus talking about “Church Discipline.”

Not the type of discipline that is like "getting whacked on the knuckles with a ruler" discipline.

But what we hear Jesus recommending… is a process that is grounded in mercy for both the person who was injured and offended AND the person who has committed the injury and offense.

It’s more like reconciliation…and repairing the gap that’s occurred in a relationship.

It’s also nothing new for the community Jesus was talking to back in the First Century.

I’ve said it before: we have to remember that the people in the Gospels…unless they are identified otherwise…are all Jewish.

And so the disciples in the story…and even those who were hearing the Matthew Gospel read to them back in the beginnings of the Christian movement… understood that Jesus was referencing the moral holiness codes of Leviticus and Deuteronomy…and putting them into practice.

They understood that it wasn’t healthy to harbor hatred and resentment toward someone who did them wrong…and that if the matter was serious…it was important to have more than the testimony of just one witness to what happened. Otherwise, it could lead to someone getting falsely accused.

To illustrate the importance of this point…in the verses right before today’s reading…Jesus talks about children…the most vulnerable and innocent among us.

Children…like widows… represent the powerless…the ones who depend upon the kindness of strangers…to protect them from exploitation and cruelty.

Then Jesus drives home this point with the story of the shepherd…who notices that one of his flock has gone missing.

The shepherd leaves the 99 on the mountain side to go find that one and bring them back into the fold.

It’s not that the other sheep don’t matter to the shepherd.

But what Jesus wants them…and us… to understand is that when it comes to living in community…all members…especially the least…the lowest…the lost…the overlooked…are important and must be included.

And it’s essential that when conflict arises…for a community to remain a thriving living…breathing… example of God’s loving kindness…God’s mercy… there is a way to go about addressing the issue…that protects everyone…and offers a means of making amends without causing more harshness and injury.

It's about restoration…reconciliation… …and giving grace for all voices to be heard.

It’s about telling the truth.

And that’s what makes this particular discipline challenging.

Because truth-telling takes honesty…and a willingness to listen to those who are the vulnerable…without making excuses or cutting off the dialogue.

I just got back last night from a conference in Minneapolis where the Episcopal Church did some truth-telling around the treatment of the LGBTQIA community.

While our church is now standing on the other shore from outright rejection of the queer community…it didn’t happen without conflict and a lot of hard work.

And it has taken us fifty years to live into the promise that was made in 19-76 to the LGBTQIA community...a promise issued by the whole church, that quote:

“...homosexual persons are children of God who have a full and equal claim with all other persons upon the love, acceptance, and pastoral concern and care of the Church.”

That simple sentence led to years of conflict…with steps forward…and many steps backward...and more lurches forward.

And…despite what some have tried to argue…it was all Gospel-based hard work.

Gospel-based hard work that grew out of the equally hard…Gospel-grounded work of the church accepting the idea that women could be ordained as priests in the church.

The same work that’s found in our baptismal covenant…when we talk about seeking and serving Christ in ALL persons…ALL persons.

Not just persons who are just like us.

And respecting the dignity of every human being.

That’s hard work….and it’s on-going work.

And I think this is some of what has been tripping us up in this country...our reluctance to do hard...truth-telling work.

Throughout our history…there have been many histories.

But too often the stories told by the least…the lowest…the overlooked…get pushed aside.

Sometimes…just our basic understanding of major events…the things we were taught in school.. depends on where you were growing up in the country.

I was shocked in my senior year of high school in New England when I learned from my sociology teacher…a native of South Carolina…that the war fought in this country between 1861-1865 was not “The Civil War” as I had been taught.

It was “the War Between the States” because…as she told us…South Carolina’s Education Department declared that there was “nothing ‘civil’ about it.”

I’m not going to argue that war is “civil”…but when we can’t agree that the reason the North and the South fought one of our most deadly battles was about slavery of black people…we’re not being honest.

If we can’t teach our children that the years following that war were marked by broken promises and more violence…we are only doing further injury… not just to the memory of those who were enslaved and their ancestors…

Not telling the truth also injures those of us who are white who are descended from the perpetrators and as well as those who witnessed the violence.

It traps all of us in a skewed version of history…where the truth is buried and the hurt is allowed to keep growing.

And it prevents us from reaching the desired outcome: restoration with the possibility of forgiveness.

This is the very thing Jesus’s instruction is getting to when he talks about treating the one who refuses to listen even to the church to as a “Gentile and a tax collector.”

He’s not saying to kick them out…but as professor Aaron Gale notes…these are the ones who need more instruction…more remediation.

They’re the toughest nuts to crack…but….like that lost sheep…we must keep looking for the way to bring them back…and accept that they have done wrong so that the breech can be repaired…and open the way for healing and even forgiveness.

Can you imagine if this were the way our justice system operated?

Actually…some have imagined it.

There was a woman I knew in Tallahassee…a retired nurse and social justice advocate named Agnes Furey.

Agnes had a daughter named Pat. 

Pat loved animals and gardening and helping people.

But she also had an addiction to alcohol.

For a time…Pat’s youngest child…Christopher…lived with Agnes while Pat was in rehab.

And it was in her addiction recovery program that she met a man named Leonard Scovens.

Agnes felt uneasy about this relationship…but Pat insisted to her mom that Leonard needed help.

Scovens murdered Pat and Agnes’s six year-old grandson.

And as you might imagine…that loss was devastating.

Agnes was rightfully angry and deeply wounded.

And after some time….she did the extraordinary: she wrote Leonard Scovens a letter in prison.

He wrote her back…a dismissive letter apparently…which infuriated Agnes.

So she wrote to him again.

And gradually…as they corresponded back and forth…Agnes learned more about the broken and dysfunctional childhood that had helped to create Leonard into an anti-social human capable of murdering her daughter and grandson.

And Leonard saw in Agnes a soft-spoken…kind-hearted…and tough as nails woman…who wasn’t going to let him off the hook…and that he had hurt her in a tragic and brutal way.

The story is not so much about Agnes forgiving Leonard…or Leonard having some great kum-by-yah moment with his victims’ mother.

But they found a type of peace in knowing each other more fully...in the space between them.

For Agnes…it freed her from the anger that was burning inside of her.

For Leonard…it freed him to feel what Love really looks like for the first time in his life.

And their letters and stories are in a book called, "Wildflowers in the Meridian."

This is what restorative justice looks like.

And this is the world that God imagines for all of us.

One in which we will do the hardest work of them all:

Telling the truth.

Loving our neighbors as ourselves…and respecting the dignity of every human being.

That’s our work. That’s the example we can give to others.

In the name of our One Holy and Undivided Trinity.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lament, Learn, Change.

As we begin another season of Lent, I could not help but consider that this one is much different than others I've experienced in my lifetime. 

Because this one feels as though the nation needs to be putting on sack clothes and sitting in ashes. The staggering amount of corruption in the Epstein Files, the violence of sexual abuse perpetrated on children and young women.

And all of it tied to the very monied and powerful of the world: the ones now being called "The Epstein Class."

Not just rich. Rich and depraved.

This brutality is not new. It has been in the world forever. And it's time for it to end. 

All of that was on my mind as I looked at the first reading assigned on this Ash Wednesday. 

See what you think.

Texts: Joel 2:1-2, 12-17

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As I stand here tonight…at the start of another season of Lent…I have to say it feels as if we’ve already been living in this Lenten season.

It feels as if we’ve been wandering around in the wilderness for quite some time.

These several months have seen crisis after crisis at the national level.  All of it…filtering down into our local communities with people living in an almost constant state of irritation, agitation, and fear.

I measure some of this by observing people’s driving behavior.

I spend a lot of time on the road between here and Tallahassee.

And while I have found the driving culture in Florida’s capital city always to be erratic at best…it seems recently to have become devoid of obeying any traffic laws at all.

I have seen drivers weave around other cars and blow through a red light.

Stop signs are now merely suggestions.

The overly aggressive road rage feels as if it mirrors the same reckless disregard and amoral attitudes pervasive in this country where officials refuse to answer questions and programs to help with health care and food supplies get cut or frozen.

Where we spend billions on retrofitting warehouses as prisons…and separating families…while killing anyone who dares to question this brutality.

It makes the words of a fifth century BCE prophet such as Joel sound like a modern-day writer when he talks about:

“…a day of darkness and gloom, a day of clouds and thick darkness!

Like blackness spread upon the mountains a great and powerful army comes;

their like has never been from of old, nor will be again after them in ages to come.”

Even though things might have felt dark and gloomy lately…the truth is this hasn’t even really been a moment of living into Lent.

Because if we really were living into the meaning of the Lenten season…we wouldn’t be focused on the darkness surrounding us.

We’d be engaged in that latter part of our Joel reading:

The part about returning to the Lord…and lamenting over the things done and left undone.

And we’d be rending our hearts and not our clothing.

To rend is a strong verb.

It implies violently ripping apart.

Back in the days of the prophets…it was common practice for those in the Biblical narrative to rend their clothes when things were going awry.

Kings and whole populations would see their misfortunes as God punishing them for not following commandments.

They’d rip up their clothes…put on sackcloth…and sit in ashes…seeking forgiveness from God for whatever wrongs they’d done.

We don’t do that anymore.

But these past several weeks have been exposing a lot of the ugly truths that we have tolerated for too long.

We have not taken care of children and women the way we should.

We have not punished perpetrators for their criminal and abusive behavior.

We have not addressed the concerns at our borders…or met the needs of those in the system who have cried out for a fair and thoughtful way into this country.

And we’ve buried our heads rather than admit that economic injustice has been the engine driving us down the path of more racism…and classism…and division in this country.

Time to rend our hearts…and open ourselves to acknowledge how these failures happening at the 30-thousand foot level have been raining down on us here in the valley.

This Lent might be the time to not just look inward at our own lives…but to see the breaches that have happened in our public life…and commit to repairing those broken places.

We may not see the end of poverty in our lifetimes…but we must still do our part to alleviate that suffering by becoming conscious of the decisions that we make.

Where do we shop…and what are we buying?

How much do we need…versus’ how much do we want?

We each have a part to play in making things better for others and we are each going to fall short of getting it right 100-percent of the time.

And that’s not a failure.

It’s a learning experience.

As our collect this evening reminds us…God does not hate us.

Jesus’ life…ministry and mission…was all about showing us the extent of God’s abounding love toward us….and inviting us to join him…and be part of his team in extending that love to everyone.

What we’re to remember is that when we find ourselves losing our way…and following the path of self-centeredness…there’s always a way back to Love.

And that road is always there and available…especially when we come with tears and regret.

On this night…we retrace that invisible blessing of the cross that was made on our foreheads at our baptism with the visible sign of an ashen cross.

We are reminded that we only have so much time in this mortal life to make a difference.

So before you wash away these ashes…take time to look into the mirror…and think about the meaning of that cross.

Consider how it signals our commitment to work toward mercy…compassion…and justice for all.

What might each of us do to turn away from those things that seek to divide us…so that we can more fully embrace that commandment to love our neighbors as ourselves?

Look at that cross and ponder the question posed by the poet Mary Oliver:

“What is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”

In the name of Our One Holy and Undivided Trinity.

 

 

Seek God: A Sermon for the First Sunday of Advent at St. Barnabas

 

As I was prepping for my sermon this past Sunday, I read in a commentary that Vincent VanGogh's famous painting "The Starry Night" was inspired by the scripture reading from Luke, which depicts chaos in the skies and the seas as the Son of Man is coming. 

I also knew that as I was reading both Jeremiah and the pericope chosen from Luke 21, I couldn't stop thinking about the trial in Brunswick, Georgia, and the conviction of Greg and Travis McMichael and William "Roddie" Bryan for the murder of a black jogger, Ahmaud Arbery. So many people expressed shock (and relief!) that an almost all-white South Georgia jury found three white men, one of whom (Greg McMichael) had a connection to the local Brunswick District Attorney, guilty of murder. I wasn't shocked; I thought the evidence was pretty overwhelming. I was relieved because well...I have thought the evidence pretty overwhelming in other cases where the killing seemed racially-motivated and yet the people were not charged or convicted. Certainly, the lack of a conviction in Wisconsin in the case of Kyle Rittenhouse made some more anxious about what was to happen in Georgia. 

And the Georgia trial had all the theater that I know some in the South really don't like. There were demonstrations outside the courthouse, including one day when the New Black Panther Party marched with guns. The judge in the case made sure the jury was secluded from what was happening outside the courthouse. 

What didn't get as much attention was the clergy group that had formed in the wake of the murder. That interfaith group kept up a vigil of prayer every morning for all parties involved, the lawyers, the judge and the jurors. Prayer isn't as striking an image for the TV cameras as armed people, especially armed black people. But I would like to believe that the presence of those clergy people had a small yet significant impact on keeping the peace in moments of disquiet and difficulty.

There is no better time for God's presence to be known than in those times!

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Good morning! And welcome to Advent…that season of preparation, anticipation, and not anything our culture understands or appreciates.

I’m sure y’all noticed the red and green decorations in the stores…even before all the Halloween candy was sold out. Even driving in this morning…I saw the large Christmas ball decorations on the street corners.

While big box stores have been pushing Christmas for weeks…we come to church and are greeted with the words of Luke’s Gospel:

"There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on the earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves. People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken….”(Luke 21:25-26)

The Luke reading may sound a bit grim…and in so many ways…that seems exactly right for this season of Advent…and especially for our times right now.

All eyes of the nation had been focused on the trial in Brunswick for the past month.

And while the jury handed down guilty verdicts in that case…

One family has had a son murdered…

Two other families are living with the punishment that their loved ones committed a murder.  

And a community must now work to reckon with what has happened and heal from the event.

I think the bishops here in Georgia…our bishop Logue and the Bishop of Atlanta as well as the Lutheran bishop of the Southeastern Synod got it right when they called for us to pray for all affected, including ourselves…as we continue to do the work we have been given to do to reckon with the sin of racism and to strive toward a world where all God’s beloved children are treated with respect and dignity.

I had honestly and maybe naively hoped that the pandemic with shutdowns and lockdowns and dependance on those we called “essential workers”…which included people working in grocery stores and restaurants…that maybe our hearts would have softened enough to see how we are… as people… so interconnected and interdependent.

Perhaps we might begin to see Christ in the face of the person we regard as “other.”

Time and time again…I’ve been disappointed and disillusioned that our forced social distancing has seemed to separate us even more.

Tempers are shorter.

People are more rude.

As one of my friends once said, “We are a long way from the manger in Bethlehem.”

Again…I say…welcome to Advent….a time when we are encouraged to slow down…take stock of the messiness that is our reality at times…and to keep searching for that light in the distance as we look for Christ’s return.  

If there’s someone who understands “messy” and has words that still remain so incredibly relevant it’s the prophet Jeremiah.

“The days are surely coming…” he says. They aren’t here yet. They are “surely coming.”

Something to know about Jeremiah:

he’s the prophet for people who have been through trauma. And this poor guy has seen A LOT of trauma.

He’s the prophet of those residents of the southern kingdom…Judah… who thought they had it all figured out. The Assyrians had conquered them…but they were going to eventually overthrow their aggressors.

Instead…they were defeated, captured and scattered in the Babylonian exile. Jerusalem was piles of rubble and only a small remnant remained…one of those being Jeremiah.

Now he’d tried to warn the leaders of Judah of these enemy invasions.

But instead of thanking him and heeding the warnings…Jeremiah was beaten and ridiculed.

So here he is…in this city still smoking and smoldering from the Babylonian takeover… and yet Jeremiah is proclaiming hope.

The hope is not going to come right away…but “the days are surely coming.”

There is a righteous branch that will spring up for David (Jer.33:15b). The conquered kingdom of Judah will be restored…and the ransacked city of Jerusalem will be safe…and will be called “The Lord is our righteousness.” (Jer.33:16).

These days haven’t arrived yet.

But Jeremiah knows this is coming.

He has such an intimate and close relationship to God (at the beginning of the Book of Jeremiah…we hear God say that he knew Jeremiah in the womb) and Jeremiah knows in the depths of his soul that God is going to deliver this frightened and shaken people.

Those days are surely coming…so don’t give up.

Don’t shut down.

Keep the faith.

Jeremiah’s lite motif: Seek God. Seek God. Seek God!

How much do we need to have the prophet now in our time…during these past almost two years…to keep our hearts and minds fixed on a future beyond pandemics?

Interestingly…the symbol of the righteous branch…new life growing… fits with the hope that follows the “roaring sea” and “fainting in fear” language of Luke’s Gospel.

Jesus uses the fig tree to reminds us that even when things might be feeling out-of-sorts…there is hope…like when the leaves of the fig tree start sprouting, we know cold and winter will give way to warmth and summer.

This is Jesus giving us a type of pep talk in the same way that Jeremiah was giving reassurance to his beleaguered people.

Where this particular passage comes in Luke’s Gospel is right before everything starts unraveling in Jerusalem and Jesus is arrested.

So he’s speaking these words in a time where he knows that he’s in danger.

But even in this moment of uncertainty…Jesus isn’t saying to throw in the towel.

No!

He’s saying, “Don’t let the worries of this life get you down!

Keep your head up!

Redemption is coming!

Not as some after-you-die sort-of-thing; it’s coming now…right now!

Don’t just stare into the void, but see what is happening around you, and know that hope is springing up…just like that righteous branch.”

Jesus’ lite motif: Seek God. Seek God. Seek God.

How much do we need to hear that message from Jesus now?!

And it is coming into fruition.

I see it in the response of clergy in Brunswick who came together to serve as the non-anxious presence of prayer for the length of that murder trial.

All five of the Episcopal Churches in the Glynn County area…as well as Baptists, Methodists, Jews and Muslims…made a point of being outside the courthouse. They all agreed to work together because they knew how deeply shaken the community had been by what happened.

And like Jeremiah…and like Jesus…they also knew that their best offering back to the community was to acknowledge that while the times are hard…there is still a God who has not forsaken South Georgia and empowers them and us to seek the Holy that is present in all people…loving our neighbors as ourselves.

They kept a daily vigil each morning to pray for the judge, the jury and the families.

They looked to God…and served as a visible sign of God for a hurting and troubled community.

Not only did this help serve as a balm to the wounds of Brunswick…it has opened channels of communication and dialogue among the people of faith in Glynn County.

I pray that the good work they’ve begun continues…and might even be an inspiration for us here in Lowndes County.

What an amazing thing it would be if our three Episcopal Churches might find a common mission to make life better for all people.

What a positive affect we could have if the Episcopal Churches joined with other faith leaders to be a force of love and lowering the temperature on the anger that seems to be fueling division in the world?

What an outward and visible sign of God’s grace and love when the Episcopal Churches and all people of faith come together in unity of purpose to seek God!

Those days are surely coming, says the Lord…

In the Name of our Undivided Trinity…Father, Son, and Holy Spirit…

 

The Difficult Work of Forgiveness

Sermon for 17 Pentecost, Year C

October 6, 2019   SMJEC

Texts: Hab. 1:1-4; 2:1-4; Ps. 37: 1-10; 2 Tim 1:1-14; Luke 17:5-10

Increase our faith! That’s what the apostles are demanding from Jesus, but why are they asking this question? I feel as though I have just walked up in the middle of a conversation. Because…well…I have. 

For whatever reason…maybe to save time…or to reign in the preacher…our lectionary diviners decided to simply pick up basically in mid-thought with our Gospel passage. So I looked a little further back in Chapter 17 to see what exactly made the apostles so concerned that they would need to increase their faith.

Here’s a quick summary of verses one through four:

Jesus lays down some hard truths about what it is to be one of his followers. To draw nearer to God through Jesus we must realize that we are going to fall short of perfection…a lot. And while we are apt to stumble along the way…anyone who causes another to trip and fall and falter in their journey with God…that one might as well be prepared to die because a great millstone will be tied around their neck. That’s harsh. But then Jesus goes on to tell the apostles that if a person does them wrong…and then that same person repents and asks for forgiveness…the expectation is that the offended one will forgive their offender. And if the offender then sins against them again…and again…oh, and again and again and again and again and again? If the offender turns around and asks for forgiveness…the offended has to forgive. Not “ought to.” They have to.

I think we can now see why this might cause the apostles to swallow hard. In the days of Luke’s writing…the way of justice was one of retribution and revenge, not repentance and mercy. Even in our own litigious society, we would rather haul someone into court and seek judgment against the wrong doer than to engage in an act of forgiveness. Think about it: we’re less than a mile from the Capitol Building and the U.S. Supreme Court. Can you imagine if every contentious debate would invoke this Jesus model of forgiveness and mercy? 

If you have been following the news in Dallas with the trial of the white police officer who shot and killed her black neighbor, you might have heard that Officer Guyger broke down in tears and admitted that she had shot an innocent man. In her initial phone call to 9-1-1, she had openly worried that her actions would cost her in her career. That doesn’t exactly sound remorseful for the fact that she shot a guy who was in his own apartment eating ice cream because she had mistakenly thought she was at her own door. But at the trial, she expressed sorrow and openly wished that she had died. The jury found Amber Guyger guilty of murder. The victim’s family members were then allowed to give testimony about the life of Botham Jean which had been cut short. He was a happy man. He sang beautifully and was a member of his church choir. He loved people and they loved him. His death was like a crater in their lives. I’m sure many of us can relate to that feeling when a sudden or unexpected death plunges us into the numbing other worldliness of grief.

But then in one of those rare instances that happens in a murder case, Botham Jean’s brother, Brandt, looked at his brother’s killer and forgave her in open court. He did not excuse her crime. But what he expressed later is that he did not want to spend the rest of his life saying, “I hate you.” He wanted to free himself and his heart knowing that he had settled this matter with her conviction. And he hoped that she would find Christ. He then asked the judge if he could hug her. The two bee-lined toward each other and embraced. How much faith did that take for him to offer forgiveness to his brother’s murderer and to believe her repentance? How much faith did it take for her to embrace his act of mercy? Meanwhile, outside the courtroom, the protestors, who were deeply hurt and angry at the 10-year sentence in this case, chanted “No Justice! No Peace!”  And yesterday, news broke that one of the key witnesses who helped to convict Officer Guyger…one of Botham Jean’s neighbors…was shot to death. “Increase our faith.”

The ability to acknowledge that we’ve done something wrong, that we have caused hurt to another person… and to say we’re sorry requires humility. And the act of having the compassion to offer mercy also requires us to step down from a seat of judgment and stand on that floor of forgiveness. 

Increase our faith indeed!

I can imagine on most days, when we’ve been wronged or violated we might feel more like the prophet Habakkuk. Rather than asking for more faith, we wail to God “Where are you?! Why are you making me witness this?!”  

I know I am upset every time I hear of yet another shooting, or when I hear the newscaster say that each month is “the hottest we’ve had on record” as scientists confirm that—yes--the temperature of the planet is rising. Yes, we are losing more species of birds. 

Such tragedies and hardships can leave us feeling powerless and hopeless in the face of what seems to be a cruel and unjust world.  In the words of the theologian Howard Thurman, “Why does the evilness of evil seem to be more dynamic than the goodness of good?”  Such a force can feel too difficult for us to handle.

Here’s the thing: it is too difficult for us to handle! That’s what Habakkuk realizes in his complaint. God answers him: “There is still a vision for an appointed time.”  God is not going to say when that time is, but he is telling the prophet Habakkuk to have faith and keep watch. In other words: stick with me and I will get you to the other side of this troublesome time. 

Spoiler alert: the book ends with Habakkuk singing a victory hymn and declaring God’s glory.

All the evil and the brokenness in the world is too much for us, but it is not too much for God. That’s Jesus’ point when he answers the apostles.  Note that he tells them they don’t need to have faith the size of a boulder; just faith the size of a mustard seed…just a jot of faith…just a small amount of humility to trust in God. 

Putting trust in God is a way of finding inner peace and strength in times of difficulty. Wecan’t solve all the problems of the world or our community. But if we gave even one ounce of our energy to connecting to the Source of Light and Love that became Flesh through Jesus Christ…the promise of God is to meet us and strengthen us for God’s service to free our hearts to bring more love into our world. It’s about making our faith so strong and free that we could uproot a mulberry tree and toss it into the sea. 

There’s a closing sentence in our daily morning office that I have found to be a helpful reminder of this as I head out the door to start my day: 

“Glory to God whose power working in us can do infinitely more than we can ask or imagine. Glory to God from generation to generation and in the church and in Christ Jesus forever and ever.” 

Enough!!

Our Lady of Ferguson and all victims of gun violence commissioned by the Rev. Dr. Mark Bozutti-Jones of Trinity Wall Street Episcopal Church

It has happened. Again. And again.

In two days, in two cities, two very different men with a single common denominator that they were black. Both were shot down by police officers.

One man in Baton Rouge...his name is Alton Sterling...was called in by someone for selling CDs outside a convenience store and having a gun. Two officers responded, and with Sterling pinned to the ground, they shot him in the chest and the back. That was horrifying.

Then, not even a full 24-hours later, in Falcon Heights, Minnesota, another man...his name is Philando Castile...was pulled over for a busted tail light on his car. And with his girlfriend and four-year-old child in the car, an officer shot him and he bled out while his girlfriend recorded the whole incident for Facebook to see. That was sickening.

The media was quick to tell us how Sterling had had his share of run-ins with law enforcement before. Castile, on the other hand, had no rap sheet. He taught in the St. Paul School District. He was a loved teacher and colleague. He was also a black man with a gun, and he told the officer that he had his concealed weapon on his person. He was attempting to get out his wallet from his back pocket when the officer unloaded four bullets into him.

They're dead. The cops are on paid administrative leave. And I have a terrible feeling that, like with the many cases before this, nothing will happen to the officers involved because there will be some justification for why they felt they needed to use deadly force when they weren't being threatened with imminent harm.

Of course, some want to deflect these horrific crimes by reminding us all that not every person serving on a police force is a bad person. Yes, that is true. But I'm not really in the mood to hear about that right now. And even this police officer, Nakia Jones,says it's time for cops to call out and cull the bad apples in their bunch.

Please note: I'm saying the police need to be willing to police themselves. This is not a call to arms to take out cops with more deaths by guns (and please don't even get me started on America's gun addiction!). Even as I have been typing this blog, three four five officers are dead in Dallas at a march against this police brutality. More violence is not surprising given the track record of little to no accountability for the police who have killed black men. But shooting cops only escalates the hate. And the fear. And the mistrust. Enough!

Seriously: is it any wonder that African-Americans in this country are angry and lack confidence in the police or any of our institutions which consistently fail them? Is it any wonder that they express hostility at the idea that they are even "Americans" when their loved ones are gunned down by those who take oaths to protect and serve their communities? Their outrage is understandable and one that I hear and join. I may not have black skin, but that doesn't mean that I can't see this injustice and know that it is a failure which white Americans must acknowledge as our own. If black lives don't matter, then nobody's life matters. And, again, killing the police doesn't make black lives matter, either.

The gospel lesson assigned in this morning's daily office was prophetic:

‘Then they will hand you over to be tortured and will put you to death, and you will be hated by all nations because of my name. Then many will fall away,and they will betray one another and hate one another.And many false prophets will arise and lead many astray. And because of the increase of lawlessness, the love of many will grow cold.But anyone who endures to the end will be saved. And this good news of the kingdom will be proclaimed throughout the world, as a testimony to all the nations; and then the end will come.--Matthew 24: 9-14 (emphasis added).

Will we see an end to this lawlessness in our land? Can we acknowledge the racism that infects so many parts of our culture that makes my white life more valuable than that of my black and brown brothers and sisters? I know this is a monumental undertaking, but we must not shy away from it. We have to hold police officers accountable when they abuse power. Same with our political leaders. Same with our courts, our hospitals, our schools, our religious institutions. That might be the beginning of finally living into God's dream instead of wallowing in the nightmare we create.

And so, with that, I leave on this variation of the children's bedtime prayer:

Now I lay me down to sleep

In hopes I wake and not to weep

To learn of killings overnight

because a cop acted in fright.

God bless...

Alton and Philando, too

And all the victims, black and blue...

This my prayer I raise to you

Be our guide that leads to truth.

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.

The Mighty Force of Love

There's been a lot said this week and a lot shared on social media about the horrible crime at Pulse nightclub in Orlando. Many of us in the LGBTQ+ community have struggled with staying focused at work in between bouts of sobbing and the mental fog that descends when you are in grief. Grief is like that. It suspends all time, manner, and place as it puts you in an other-worldly in-between space of neither here nor there.

I have appreciated the posts where gay people attempt to explain to the straight community why we who are LGBTQ+ feel this tragedy on a personal level. It is a rare person who comes out as gay, lesbian, bi, or transgender who has not been to a gay nightclub and considers such places to be a refuge from a harsh and hating world. Every one of us could see in the faces of the victims our own selves as well as seeing the individual young and joyful eyes of so many Latinx who were embracing life and celebrating Pride Week in America's theme park city. When we expressed "We are Orlando" that's what we meant.

I also have appreciated those expressions from straight friends struggling to find words and ways to express their profound sorrow about this hate crime. For some of them, it has come in the form of wanting to offer prayers, attend the vigils, give free hugs. For others it has been to express their outrage that we've had another mass shooting in America and the demand that we not ignore the carnage or worry that "now is not the time" to talk about the growing problem of gun violence. At long last, some of my friends who are gun enthusiasts are now raising the same questions I've had forever about the wide and easy availability of certain weapons and the lobby that blocks any study of gun violence from happening. I see in these responses that effort to channel into action feelings of "What can I do?" To not feel helpless in a helpless situation.

Still, there have been those whose response to the terribleness of this shooting was to do one of two other things: attempt to turn away from the real fact that this was a targeted killing of LGBTQ+ people of color and make it about terrorism (a claim that has now been refuted by our own intelligence sources) and to otherwise not speak the name of "gay" or "queer" or "LGBTQ+" but generically refer to the 49 dead as "victims" or "humans." The other was to want to do what I call "turning the spotlight" on themselves by insisting that (fill-in-the-name) minority group has, in fact, been killed in greater numbers than what happened at Pulse in one night, as if there was something to be gained in taking the prize for "worst mass shooting ever."

For me, the biggest hurt has been in how the church and Christians specifically have responded. A hate-filled pastor in California puts up a video saying that more of us should have died. That he claims the mantle of Christ is offensive to me. And then why anyone who professes a belief in Jesus Christ would feel the need to share videos or reports about these anti-gay remarks of an off-the-wall pastor was mind-boggling. Atheists, naturally, would share such a thing so as to highlight the hypocrites in their contention that all Christians are hypocrites.

In response to those irresponsible and hateful words, I shared this Facebook video by Fr. Jim Martin, a Jesuit Roman Catholic priest to show that face of Christianity that is not homophobic. His words are of far greater value, in my opinion, and deserve to be shared. Because the true test of one's faithfulness to Christ is the ability to enter into the pain and suffering of the injured, the despondent, the grieving and the hurting person without condition and without the need to shift the spotlight onto one's self or to keep one's self aloof and apart. The words of Jesus from the Gospel of Matthew, "Come to me, all you that are weary and carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest," is the type of invitation that many of us would be happy to accept from those who profess to be followers of Christ. Shoulder this grief with us, give us the space to feel and breathe again. And above all else, refute the attempts to whitewash this tragedy by acknowledging this  was about hatred of gay people. Just like the shooting at this time last year inside Mother Emmanuel AME Church in Charleston was about the calculated killing of black people. It's all about hate and fear of those painted by some politicians and church leaders as "others."

I am more convinced than ever that the reason the LGBTQ+ population was a target in this crime and why we are trotted out every two-to-four years to be vilified and made into demons in the political spectrum is because we are a community built on love.

Because we love we are hated and feared.

Because we love those who dwell in darkness are always attempting to douse our light.

Because we love the peddlers of destruction and death project their own brokenness unto us and then scream, "A-ha!"

Jesus, who was the queerest person in every sense of the word in the whole Bible in my opinion, knows the odds that the LGBTQ+ community faces because he, too, was killed by a world that was too scared and threatened to accept that he loved and wanted everyone to love. Obviously, the world hasn't changed that much. And yet, it is the Christian narrative of Jesus' resurrection and his power to overcome death that serves as a source of strength for me in my commitment and belief that Love is going to win. Always. Even when it suffers punches and body blows, it will prevail.

Time to commit to love more deeply and strongly than ever before.