One Nation Under Guns

After yet another mass shooting incident at a school...this time in Winder, Georgia, a rural community between Atlanta and Athens...I found it hard to concentrate on the upcoming lessons for Sunday. 

And so instead...I wrote this. The beginnings of what maybe will be a song. Or a rap. Or just an expression of the rage I feel every time I hear of people getting slaughtered in this country because Congress refuses to crackdown on gun manufacturers. 

One Nation Under Guns
Susan Gage
  
We are
What we believe.
A nation in bereavement
An ineffectual response from government
to the slaughter
of our daughters,
fathers, mothers, lovers,
colleagues,  
sons and friends.
Somebody tell me:
When will this end?
When will this end?!
 
Columbine, Virginia Tech,
Sandy Hook, Connecticut,
Vegas, Parkland, Winder,
Dayton, Stockton,
Pittsburgh, Charleston, Buffalo
Lewiston to Orlando
Nashville, Dallas, and El Paso
Baton Rouge and Atlanta
Aurora,
Thousand Oaks, California:
 
Do we hear ya?
Do we know ya?
Do we even give a damn?
 
At a concert, in a movie,
In a school, or buying groceries
There is no place we are free
From this sick mentality
That puts guns over people
Shooters’ rights as a staple
of the freedoms
we were promised with that life and liberty
Pledge allegiance to this land
With an AR-15 in your hand
 
Thoughts and prayers
Lifted high
But no action in reply:
 
Faith without works
is more death.
 
We are
What we believe
One Nation Under Guns.
 
We are
What we believe
One Nation Under Guns.
 
Bang.

Simple Witness

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Home

 

"So let us pray for an angel not to confirm our views but to announce and enable God's contradicting news. Gloria! Gloria! In excelsis Deo! Et in terra pax hominibus bonae voluntatis."--Voces Angelorum, Words and music by John L. Bell

Merry Christmas! 

Our Advent is over, and the new season of Christmas...all 12 days of it...has arrived. The in-breaking of Love has come in a baby born in meager state to a teen-age mom, a man committed to this young girl and willing to raise a child not of his own making, and a world where "their people" were under the thumb of the Roman authority. Yet angels and stars will call upon the working-class members of society, the shepherds, and the scientific studious ones, the three wise men, to go see this newborn baby boy and his parents as they make a temporary home with horses, cows, and probably a few other noisy animals. Both are summoned to this place to bear witness to a new thing that is happening, and are convinced that this child is the one for whom the world has waited with great anticipation because this is the one who will "ransom captive Israel" and deliver it from the bondage of sin and death.

There is a lot of expectation placed on this baby. And clearly, even two thousand plus years later, there are millions of us who return to this story as a reminder of that hope that found a home in a manger, and not a palace, as we strive for a more just and loving society. 

The fact that "home" for this Emmanuel, God with us, is among animals and rough conditions and not soft pillows and rose petals is where my mind has come to focus this season. There are many people in our country who are not enjoying comforts of home this season and I'm not talking strictly about those who, for whatever reason, find themselves homeless...or even those who, for reasons of culture and politics, are choosing to stay away from blood relations. The sense of "home" can be complicated if we attach too much importance to a Hallmark image of what that means and it can actually exacerbate whatever depression or pain might be present for some at this season of new birth. So let's just consider that in this story of Jesus' birth, "home" isn't some idyllic "place". "Home" is wherever you are, in whatever condition you are in, and God is meeting you in that place within you...in your lightness and your darkness...to take up residence in your heart and give you strength and courage to carry love forward into the world. To me, this is how this birth narrative stays relevant to so many of us here in the 21st century. And it remains real in those ways in which we connect with others who also feel this stirring in their inner beings to make a difference in the world. I shared a video of the Dalai Lama and Archbishop Desmond Tutu sharing about joy in this often joyless world. I loved this particular quote of Tutu's:

"As an old man, I can say this again.

Start where you are and realise you are not meant on your own to resolve all of these massive problems.

My heart leaps with joy at discovering the number of people who say "we want to make a better world".

And you will be surprised at how it can get to be catching.

Do what you can, where you can."

Our call is to nurture and care for this Love born in our hearts and make a home for Love wherever we are. Let us celebrate that Christmas this year.    

Discernment and Deserts

Tomorrow is my birthday, and like the past two birthdays in a row, I will be spending it in a decidedly un-birthday fashion. Instead of coming home and having a party or lounging and having people lavish me with gifts, or peeling me grapes, or whatever, I will be going to my first meeting with my discernment committee in the continuing long, strange, trip that I've been on with God. 

My spouse and I were talking today about what I may or may not encounter when I talk to this group of mostly totally unknown people. I'm as foreign to them as they are to me. We're supposed to talk about Christian ministry, and what I, and they, understand that to be. I was describing the different types of Christian ministers (laity and ordained) as being a little like boxers and their coaches. The laity are the ones sent out into the ring to do battle with the world all week. The bell rings, and they go to their corner (the church building) where the coach (the priest) gives them water and towels them off and talks strategy for dealing with the next round, and then they are sent back out into the ring again. She kept staring at me.

"And how are you going to do ministry?" she asked.  Now I was staring at her.  "You haven't told me how you're going to do your ministry. I hear that question and I think in terms of whether you see yourself in a parish, or are you some kind of itinerant priest, or campus ministry, or prison chaplain."

"I don't know," I said, a bit exasperated. "I don't know where I'm going to be. I don't think it will be in a parish, but where it will be, I don't know." 

As irritated as I was that she couldn't understand my metaphor, I also was very grateful for the challenge. I may not know the people on this committee, but I have experienced people in the church and I am pretty sure I will have some people there who don't like metaphor and don't like boxing (I don't really care for it much either, but it's a great metaphor!) and just want me to get to the point. So, her challenge was a valid one. And I will have an 80-minute drive from Thomasville to Albany tomorrow to contemplate how I'd answer these questions in a more concrete way.

There just seems to be a perfect timing on all of this. It's the First Sunday in Lent, which this year is also my birthday, and the very sweet day of Valentine's. The Gospel lesson assigned for this Sunday is the events, as told by Luke, of what happens to Jesus upon his immersion in the waters of baptism. The story is that the Heaven's opened and the Holy Spirit descended like a dove with a voice saying, "This is my Son with whom I am well pleased." But before Jesus can embark on his ultimate mission which will lead to the cross on Good Friday, he must be refined and tested and faced with the very things that threaten all those whom he is attempting to reach with the saving grace of God. And so, after his baptism, he is driven out into the desert where he will contend with the temptations that the world has to offer: immediate gratification, possessions and power, and recklessness. Satan, who in the Jewish tradition is like a prosecutor, attempts to attract Jesus by laying out all that the world could offer to him if he'd use his God-given power working in him to a self-serving ministry.  "Make that rock into a loaf of bread" "How 'bout all these nations and kingdoms you could possess and rule?" "Go ahead and throw yourself from a tall height. You won't die." In Luke's telling of the story, Jesus withstands all this with seeming ease and self-confidence, and we in the Episcopal Church are reminded every week that Jesus was like us in every way, "but without sin." I believe that to be true. And I also want to believe that Jesus faced these temptations and withstood them, but did so not so easily. I want to believe that Jesus saw what this prosecutor was attempting to do; lay a snare to grab him at the ankle with an "A-ha! Gotcha!" I want to believe that Jesus, who is without sin, nonetheless could see and feel and understand the great temptations that we, who are so often sorely hindered by our sins, face as a regular challenge. Who doesn't want instant gratification, right? If we weren't susceptible to that, then there would be no need for Powerball! When I consider Jesus in this scene out in the desert, I picture him somewhat bedraggled and tired and thirsty and hungry. He is physically feeling the weakness of his human body. What better time for Satan to show up and offer him lots of bright, shiny objects, right? And what an opportune time for God to be the alchemist who uses these temptations as an opportunity to refine his Son to resist what we find so irresistable. 

Discernment for the priesthood, or at least mine up to this point, has felt like many trips out into the desert. It is a time to test and probe and see what is happening with me and God and a call on my life. I have attempted to avoid going forward with pursuing a call to become a priest. This wasn't something that I've "always wanted to do"; on the contrary, I left the church in 1991 and stayed away until late 2007, and didn't have particularly warm and fuzzy feelings toward clergy people during those years that I was in exile. I found most Episcopal priests to be awkward and incapable of being with people in their places of hurt and woundedness. I wanted no part of any of that. And then my father died, and God fired up a jukebox in my head of Episcopal hymns, and the rest--as they say--is history. The more I got involved, and the more I believed in the power of Christ working with me and in me, and through me, the more I was hearing from other people: "Are you a priest?" "Are you going to become a priest?" "VTS or Sewanee?" I am someone people continuously are coming to for counsel and support. And even those conversations are beginning to end with, "I think you'd be a great priest." The time for running away has stopped.

Pray for me as you might pray for all the people who, like Jesus  in the desert, are discerning and listening for God to guide them at this time when the temptations of the world are set in contrast to the call on their lives. Pray for us to listen. Pray for us to speak our truth. Pray that we may be one in the same way Jesus and God are one.  

Fight, Tiger, Fight for Old Mizzou!

UPDATE: University of Missouri system president has resigned. Jonathan Butler has ended his hunger strike.

I don't think I have ever been so proud of my alma mater's football team than I am today.

In response to problems with racism, and a lack of action coming from the President's office, thirty members of the Mizzou Tigers football team announced they would not play or participate in any football activities until Missouri University system president Tim Wolfe resigns. Their move is in solidarity with a student movement called #ConcernedStudent1950, which is raising the racism issue after many reports of students being called the "N-word" and the smearing of a swastika using feces on the bathroom wall of a dormitory. The year 1950 was when MU began admitting African-Americans. Student protesters blocked the President's motorcade during last month's homecoming parade as a way of getting his attention to address racism because the President had refused to answer their emails or respond to Twitter messages.

Now, with this football walk out, perhaps the President will get the message.

The Tigers are supposed to play BYU this coming Saturday. But Coach Gary Pinkel has cancelled practice. And he put out his own message on Twitter yesterday with this photo of the whole team:

"The Mizzou Family stands as one. We are united. We stand with our players. #ConcernedStudent1950. GP"

Faculty have announced they are also refusing to hold classes. An African-American graduate student, Jonathan Butler, is on a week-long hunger strike at this point to protest the campus racism. This is no joke. This is real. And it is time for the talk at Mizzou to end and the action to begin.

I am particularly proud because my alma mater has needed this type of shake up for a long time. We had our own pains when I was a student with racism.In the student union building, it was not uncommon that African-American students were grouped together in one area and the majority white population occupied another.  There was soul-searching and discussion at the Journalism School when, if my memory serves me, a professor made an off-the-cuff remark that was offensive. The culture at the J-School changed, somewhat. But not enough.

When I was a senior, I remember being one of the few white students in a sociology class called "The Black Americans." It was taught by a professor who was a native African, and it was probably the best personal education I'd had in seeing things from the perspective of my African-American peers. I didn't do a lot of talking in that class (I usually didn't anyway, but this felt like a time when I really had a mission to listen). I heard from my classmates the internal divisions within them; those who were raised in majority black suburbs of St Louis versus those who had grown up in more racially-mixed neighborhoods had different perspectives on the oft-cited "white man." After awhile, one of the African-American women would speak up to note that white women were also to be seen for having advantages that they didn't have. Another would note that while white women could move about in society more freely and easily than they could, they were aware that their white sisters were still not treated with equity. I listened, sometimes with feelings of anger that I felt blamed for so many sins that I could not possibly address, and sometimes with the understanding that I was bearing witness to pain, and I had a responsibility to my brothers and sisters of color to do what I could do to address those sins.

This translated, for me, into my journalism. I had recognized talent, and I was an undergraduate trusted to be on the edit desk at KBIA-FM. In that position, I wanted to push back against what I knew were the white assumptions about affirmative action by sending forth African-American Mizzou graduates who could out shine any other job applicant, including me. I encouraged my peers. I spent time teaching the delicate art of tape splicing. I worked with them on how to write in and out of a soundbite, so that their stories would move and not sound too "student-y." I would help them choose the audio clips that had the most impact. And, most importantly, I listened. I believed in the abilities of my classmates, even when some of them told me privately that they didn't think journalism was for them. I knew that journalism needed them, and their voices. Some of them were in the same Sociology class, and we'd have a good joke at the expense of our professor about his accent, and his demands that everyone "go natural" with their hair, something my female classmates of 1990 could not imagine.

"That man is crazy!" they'd laugh. "This isn't 1970!"

As I wait to hear news on the developments at my alma mater, our fight song goes around and around in my head:

Fight, Tiger, Fight for Old Mizzou
Right behind you everyone is with you
Break the line and follow down the field
And you will be on the top, upon the top!
Fight, Tiger, you will always win!
Keep the colors flying ever skyward
In the end you'll win the victory
So Tiger fight for Old Mizzou!

This is a fight. Combating the cancer of campus racism is worth more to me as an alumna of the school than whether our football team forfeits a game. Seriously, I have never been prouder. The victory in the end of this will be a state university campus that is better, stronger, and more capable of leading the city of Columbia, the state of Missouri, and maybe even this nation to a place of more equality.

Those of us who have the power must be willing to see how our death grip hold on that power is not serving humanity or the planet well, and it's time to let go and allow those who have been traditionally powerless to enter this picture and assume leadership. Diversity is not a dirty word.

#ConcernedStudent1950, I am with you.

The Drum Major Instinct

It was a cold and windy mid-November morning when I walked from a hotel in downtown Atlanta through the Sweet Auburn neighborhood. I kept my pace brisk as I crossed street after street, even walking under a major interstate. I passed by many a closed business, and bars advertising prizes for twerking. This was definitely out of my element. But I was on a mission: I wanted to go to Ebenezar Baptist Church, the church that launched the career of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. 

I was not disappointed. The docent at the desk informed me that, in the church basement, there was a video playing of one of Dr. King's siblings telling the story of her brother and her family's involvement in the life of Ebenezer Baptist. King's father was the pastor and his mother was the organist and choir director. When Martin Luther King, Jr. was a child, he used to love to sing. He would grow up to be the co-pastor of the church with his father from 1960 to his death in 1968. The video also told the story of how violence rocked their church about six years after Rev. Dr. King's assisination. It was a Sunday morning. Dr. King's mother had just finished playing and they were starting prayers in the church when a man stood up on one of the pews, announced he was taking over, and began shooting. King's mother was killed in the melee along with a deacon. The 23-year-old who did the shooting said he did it because he was opposed to Christianity.

With that in my head, I ascended the steps to the sanctuary. There was only me, and one other couple. They left fairly soon after I got there, which gave me the entire space to myself. Me, an empty sanctuary with flowers and an old-fashioned microphone on the pulpit and the recording of the Rev. Dr. King's sermon, "The Drum Major Instict." 

I was deeply moved as I sat and listened to his voice filling the air. I knew the Scripture passage well, the moment in which the brothers are arguing and asking Jesus to give them the seats of honor on his left side and the right side. It is a moment in Jesus' ministry where I often wonder, "Did these guys who were following him here, there and everywhere have a clue as to what he was doing?" The presumption of these two guys, John and James, that they could ask Jesus to make them first ahead of the other disciples is pretty amazing, and yet, pretty typical of so many of us. That's what Rev. Dr. King referred to as "the Drum Major instinct."  I sat at times with eyes closed as I took in how Dr. King put this tale into his modern day situation in 1968. People putting themselves into financial crises by attempting to live beyond their means. Nations putting themselves and their people at-risk by asserting that their way is superior to the way of other nations. Racism, and how poor whites had deluded themselves into believing they are superior to blacks while suffering under the same oppression and injustice plaguing communities of color. And he turned his own sights back to Jesus for the role model of what real leadership looks like. I wept as I heard Dr. King say of himself that at his funeral he didn't want anyone to go on and on about him. He didn't want to be known for the many accolades he had accumulated. He didn't want them to talk about his Nobel Peace Prize. 

"Tell them I tried to love and serve humanity." 

Little did he know, he was preaching his own eulogy. His wife requested that this sermon be played at his funeral.

Little did I know this mission to find and visit his church would leave such an impression on me. I heard in his sermon many things I have felt for myself as one who has kept plugging away at the struggle for equality particularly for LGBTQI people. I don't work for justice so that I can get awards. I work for justice because I can't feel comfortable knowing that others are struggling. Yes, we have finally achieved marriage equality in Florida. But people are still able to be fired from their jobs if they get married to their same-gender partner. The Roman Catholic diocese in South Florida has made it clear to all its employees to "beware" of making public comments on social media about the marriage issue that might "contradict" traditional Roman Catholic doctrine. The Episcopal diocese of Florida has not even acknowledged that there has been this sea change in the civil marriage laws. We have made progress. But this march is far from over. And so I'm lacing up my shoes, ready to walk the path that is laid before me.  

Print This or Copy It Down and Vote!

Because so many have asked...here are my opinions about most of the issues and candidates on the ballot in Florida, particularly in North Florida... that part of the state that isn't exactly Miami Beach.

Election Day is upon us. This is your opportunity to cast your ballot for the future of this state...and the nation. And the planet.

No, that is not hyperbole. Florida is in trouble with climate change and melting glaciers. "A Word from Mother Earth" was a skit and was poking fun at the issue. But sea levels are rising, and when large portions of your state are below sea level, it's time to quit laughing about it unless you like living underwater.

And this is why when you look at the race for Governor, which features the unnaturally tan and quick-silvered Charlie Crist against a man who bears an uncanny resemblance to the Harry Potter character Voldemort you should vote for the reborn Democrat Crist. The sitting Governor, Rick Scott, has denied that humans and our industries have contributed in any way to climate change. And his excuse for not taking action is grounded in the statement, "I'm not a scientist." That's pretty clear since he doesn't know the distinction between an electric device, such as a fan, and an electronic device, such as an iPhone.  And then let's not get into the criminal past of bilking Medicare. Do I really have to help you any more?

Our Congressional District race is also an obvious choice, especially if you're a woman. I'm not saying that you should vote for Gwen Graham because SHE's a woman; I'm saying you should NOT vote for Steve Southerland because (despite his splitting hairs technicality that he voted for *a* version of the Violence Against Women Act) Southerland has opposed the VAWA, he thinks "the missus'" need to stay at home while the men drink Irish whiskey and smoke cigars, and he has done nothing but be an obstructionist while in DC. I went to a Gwen Graham house party. I listened to her concerns about our environment. I share her concerns and I have a sense that she really wants to go to Washington and serve the district, not her buddies. Let Steve Southerland go back to Panama City to bury the dead. Vote for Gwen Graham.

For some reason, George Sheldon seems to be running a campaign of silence. Maybe he's hoping that Attorney General Pam Bondi hangs herself with her record of fighting losing causes with great gusto. Or her famous concern for the Chesapeake Bay, which perhaps, through the workings of climate change, will become part of a Florida water system. Even though Sheldon hasn't put an ad on TV or come 'round knocking on my door, I am a lesbian, and I will not vote for a woman who is so expert at "traditional marriage" that she's done it three times already... all the while refusing to give up and acknowledge that the state's constitution discriminates against lesbian and gay couples wishing to marry. You don't have to be a lesbian to find Pam Bondi offensive. Vote for George Sheldon.

OK... now we get on to "the rest of the ballot." This will go pretty quickly.  If you love your licensed massage therapist, if massage therapy has helped to aid your injured body in recovering from a motor vehicle accident, then you will vote for William "Will" Rankin for Chief Financial Officer. WHO?? The guy running against incumbent Jeff Atwater, who backed the legislation that Voldemort signed that doesn't allow you, the consumer and accident victim, to see a massage therapist under your PIP auto insurance. Atwater "has never heard of anyone getting better from an auto accident" because they went to see a massage therapist. Oh, really?! Rankin for CFO. It may just be a protest vote, but I'm protesting.

Commissioner of Agriculture: here I'll tell you to vote for Adam Putnam, the incumbent. The Democratic Party has fielded Thaddeus "Thad" Hamilton for a second time for this office, but then does nothing to get out information about the man. All I can find out about him is that he holds an undergraduate degree in Agriculture, has an extensive Army record and has served on the Broward Soil and Water Conservation Board. I suppose if you're a die-hard Democrat, you'll vote for him. Otherwise, I would just vote for Putnam.

Speaking of Soil and Water, let's skip over to those races. Group 2: this is a classic case of guilt-by-association makes me say, "Ewww." Apparently, William Helmich has worked for Marco Rubio; therefore vote for Stan Peacock. Group 4: Brian Lee is a Faust fan, friend of mine on FB (and I do know him), and he and his wife, Kim Ross, are passionate about this planet and protecting it. This time, "by association" leads to a "Vote for Brian."

Judges of the First District Court of Appeal. These always seem to cause voters the most heartburn. Of course, if we simply had appointed judges, that would eliminate the problem. But we have that marriage of appointment and election called "merit retention," whereby voters can reject a judge the Governor has appointed. We have five judges on the ballot: Robert Benton is a Yes; Joseph Lewis Jr. is a Yes. Judges Makar and Osterhaus were appointed by Governor Lord Voldemort and so...guilt-by-association...No. And then the last one, Clay Roberts.....my eye started twitching when I saw his name. Clay Roberts was the head of the Division of Elections under former FL Secretary of State Katherine Harris, and was in that office during the presidential election in 2000. Yeah, you remember that election? (commence with slow rocking back and forth). Not only is Roberts a No; he should be a HELL NO!

Constitutional Amendments: Well, perhaps you've detected that I care about the environment, public lands, taking care of our natural resources. And that's the gist of Amendment One. It establishes a dedicated funding source to protect things such as our drinking water supply, our forests, and the Everglades. Vote Yes. 

Amendment Two, which I lovingly refer to as the "Reeferendum" is also a Yes. I don't smoke pot, but I have and I did inhale and I used to like it until I realized it heightened traits that I didn't like. But this amendment feels like Florida is finally catching up to things I was reporting on in the late 1990s! I'm sure the then-drug czar Jim McDonough must have thought I was a pothead. I was not. But, again, I am a lesbian and I knew people who were sick with HIV/AIDS and I knew that medicinal marijuana would have helped them with symptoms, including stimulating their appetite. Please vote Yes for all those who could really stand to benefit from a plant and not a pill.

Amendment Three. Please go back to my discussion of judges. Did you see where I say that Voldemort has appointed judges to the First DCA? Now, imagine giving Voldemort or ANY Governor the power to appoint a judge BEFORE the current sitting judge retires or otherwise vacates the seat. Does that sound like a good idea? I didn't think so! Vote NO!

 

I hope this helps those of you still scratching your heads and wondering what to do this election. Remember, these are just my opinions and you are not bound to follow any of my advice. But you will regret it if you don't. :-) Do the responsible thing: VOTE! 

A General Observation

I have read a number of statements, articles, and opinions on the mass firing (or maybe firing) of eight professors at General Theological Seminary in New York City.

I watched, sometimes more attentively at times than others, the two-and-a-half hour webcast last Thursday of The Reimagining the Episcopal Church (TREC) presentation with questions and answers. OK, so it was more questions and re-statements than answers that didn't necessarily address the questions, but I sat by the laptop anyway and listened to what was being said, while following the Twitter chatter about the event on my iPad. Yes, I was that church geeky!

On Sunday, my ears were attuned to the Gospel of Matthew, and the parable of the wicked tenants who were living quite well in the vineyard of their landowner, and beating and stoning those sent to collect for the landowner and finally killing the landowner's own son.  The landowner doesn't obiliterate these tenants for their bad behavior and misdeeds; instead, he gives this rich vineyard to others who will tend to it and return to the landowner what is rightfully his.

And perhaps it is this teaching of Jesus that the church, in its efforts to strive to be "nimble," should really be contemplating in the wake of what is occuring during these times of hand-wringing and reimaging. Perhaps it is time to change the way things have always been done and look to different leaders, and not always cut from the same cloth as the last set of leaders. Maybe, just maybe, the church needs to follow God, and not the other way around as it so often seems to feel.

I am talking about seminary and the call to the priesthood.  It was about this time last year that I went to Jacksonville with my then rector to see the bishop. I had expressed to my mentor some years earlier that I felt called to the priesthood. She told me, "That ain't gonna happen here," because I am a lesbian and I have a partner. I attempted to avoid this bothersome gut feeling, but to no avail. And so, at the urging of my spiritual director, I told my rector I felt called. "I don't think that will happen, but let me check with the bishop." Check-in occured, answer was "no way," and I went away figuring that would be the end of the discussion. It was not. The inner gut nagging got worse. The reality was hitting me that I would have to leave. I told this to my rector who, again, made a pitch to the bishop to please talk to me. I was granted an audience with the bishop on October 7, 2013. And it ended as all had predicted: the bishop acknowledged that I was a sister-in-Christ, but due to my status as a partnered lesbian, he was bound by the canons of the diocese not to ordain me. Never mind that the larger church has said sexual orientation cannot be used as a barrier to the sacramental priesthood. As with so many things, what happens at General Convention pretty much stays at General Convention because each bishop is allowed to adapt and adopt the approved resolutions to his or her particular context. Read: if the bishop doesn't like what happened, he or she can simply ignore it and keep things as they are. Some bishops are willing to wrestle with the outcomes of GC and will take the time between these triennial gatherings to see how, or if, a major change made at General Convention will work in their context. And some are content to simply say, "No." In the case of the LGBTQI faithful,  they'd rather figuratively beat, stone or kill those whom the landowner has sent than to give up any portion of the vineyard's profits to the landowner. And we know what Jesus says is the outcome of that situation.

One of the few moments during the TREC webcast that elicited a cheer from me was when Bishop Sean Rowe, who is the bishop of two dioceses in Pennsylvania, and has, by his own description, spent more than half of his young adult life as a leader in the church acknowledged that there has been an idolization of youth in the church, and that we need to value and acknowledge all the people God has brought to the church. In that statement, I heard the affirmation that there is no age limit, no sexual orientation, no status of any kind that should be the measure of greater or lesser worth to the church. This not only is for the laity; this is also for the ordained. It is the prejudices and the barriers of human origin that bar the fullness that some can achieve in the church. One of my biggest complaints about seminary education is that it is too expensive, especially for the salaries that are offered by most churches for a priest who is still a little bit wet behind the ears. The 19th century model that says the only way to properly form a priest is to have that person go to seminary for three years, uprooting themselves and perhaps their family for three years, and then hope there will be a church who will call you is really not practical in the 21st century of shrinking church and personal budgets. In some places, there is encouragement that priests be bivocational; meaning serve as a priest while holding down another job that helps pay the bills. Many churches these days cannot afford full-time clergy. I certainly get that. And if I am ever ordained, I have no intention of giving up my massage therapy license. But will a congregation accept and understand that their bivocational priest cannot be a full-time rector and able to be at their doorstep or hospital bed  immediately when a crisis hits?

The question being asked repeatedly during the webcast was, "What are we willing to sacrifice?" New ways of formation for priests, and new paradigms for the practical workings of the vocation? Good questions to ponder.

 

Paving Paradise

Give us all a reverence for the Earth as your own creation, that we may use its resources rightly in the service of others and to your honor and glory.--Prayers of the People, Form IV, BCP, p.388. 

When I first flew into Tallahassee back in the summer of 1990 for my job interview, I struggled to see the city from the sky. There were some lights peeking up through the darkness, but I really couldn't see a city. The next morning, it would become clear to me why I couldn't see Tallahassee from the air at night. It was a green city, packed with parks and trees, trees, and more trees.  I had never seen anything like this before in a state capital.  Concord, NH, is tiny compared to most capitals.  But it is well lit.  And it has concrete.  Same with Jefferson City, MO. And Boston is full of history... and lots of bricks. So, as capitals go, Tallahassee with its canopy roads and towering wooded areas was truly one of a kind.

Which is why the massive clear cutting of a pine forest at the busy intersection of East Park Avenue and Magnolia Drive was so devastating to behold. I was shocked, saddened and depressed to see large piles of what had been stately pines piled up to be hauled off to a lumber yard. And to what end?  The property owners apparently got five million dollars for the sale of this property. The public will now get another strip mall, remarkably called "Magnolia Grove," to go with the Walgreen's, McDonald's and Buffalo wings place. Gee, thanks.

Is Myers Park next?

Some have said it was inevitable.  We are growing after all. And this property is near lots of shopping areas and businesses. Why should we be surprised, then, that it has been torn up to be paved and built up just like so many other parts of the city? 

Because this is Tallahassee.  It isn't Miami or Jacksonville.  Like me, lots of other people moved here in part because the city had so many green spaces.  But these days, there seems to be an eagerness to tear it up to erect a brand new Whatever shopping center.  Meanwhile, there are countless shopping plazas all over Tallahassee that stand dormant, waiting for someone to love them back to life with a grocery store or a retail outlet of some kind. Why are we not making use of these vacant buildings and pre-paved lots? Why are we insisting on ruining the very thing that makes us different from other cities?

Whenever I pray the words from the Book of Common Prayer that opened this post, I have an image of something in the earth and our environment that I feel needs the prayer. I've visualized the Gulf of Mexico, the sea creatures poisoned by various spills and accidents, even our modest compost heap. Now, I will be visualizing what had once been a lush forest of pine trees at the corner of East Park and Magnolia. Don't be surprised if I cry a little.

Who Do We Say Christ Is?

“Who do the people say that the Son of Man is?”

That’s the question Jesus poses to his followers in the Gospel lesson assigned for tomorrow. In the story, the disciples give him all the varied answers that they've heard murmured out in the public square.  Everybody has a label for Jesus. 

Elijah. Jeremiah. John the Baptist.

And then he poses a more difficult question: Who do you say that I am?

Now, it’s personal.  Now, it’s an evaluation of their hearts and minds. Who is this guy to me?

Peter is the one who pipes up: “You are the Messiah, the Son of the living God!”  Jesus congratulates Peter, noting that this spontaneous answer came from a place of deeper wisdom than what the world was revealing about Jesus, showing that his mind had been transformed.  Jesus goes on to promise that Peter is the rock upon which the church will be built and Hades will not prevail against it.  He’s gonna get the keys to the kingdom of Heaven and whatever he binds on Earth will be bound in Heaven and whatever he loosed on Earth will be loosed in Heaven.  High-five, Peter!

Interesting to think, then, that Peter, the rock and foundation upon which the church will be built, is the one who denies Jesus three times at the critical hour.  Even the church, sometimes, can falter and fail.

The church is very much like Peter, really.  Sometimes it can clearly put forth an image of Christ to the world; sometimes it can be so tangled in the weeds of self-interest and self-preservation that I am not sure even Christ would be able to see the light of God in the midst of all that mess. Those are the times when the church is falling short of doing the important work she’s been tasked with to do: preach the Gospel at all times…even when it is bound to make somebody itch.

I have spoken of my friend, the Very Rev. Mike Kinman, before on this blog.  Mike has been praying with his feet in Ferguson, Missouri.  He’s been praying with his Facebook posts, highlighting the scourge of white privilege that has become way too obvious out of this situation (let’s face it: white people don’t get shot down in the middle of the street when they’ve got their hands up in the air.)  He’s been praying with all his heart, and with all his mind and with all his strength.  And he’s been doing it long before there was a shooting that took the life of an unarmed 18-year-old named Michael Brown.  Mike has dared, from his own position of privilege as the dean of Christ Church Cathedral, to turn the mirror on himself and the others in prominent leadership positions within the Episcopal Church and say, “Hmmmm… aren’t we a nice collection of straight white men?!”  Mike has understood, and acknowledges, that this disproportionate representation of one kind of person out of the whole great human creation of God serves to deny other voices, other visions, and, ultimately, a more complete picture of that beautiful creation that reflects Christ. If the church is going to do better and be ready to bring Christ to the world, it needs more leaders that look like God’s multi-colored and multi-gendered human tapestry.  I imagine for Mike, this is a tough self-acknowledgement that when he’s given the chance to hire and promote, it will be on his shoulders to elevate someone who doesn’t look like him. 

We should all be asking ourselves the difficult question, “Who do we say Christ is?”  Do we say that Christ is white?  Is he black?  Is he male?  Is he female?  Is he trans?  Is he straight?  Is he gay? Is he asexual? Is he a citizen? Is he a foreigner? Is he conservative? Is he progressive?

Or do we say that Christ transcends all those labels that we have developed that too often separate and divide?  Are we able to be unified in Christ as many members with our own special gifts which are made greater in our connection because they all represent an element of Christ?

Are we able to see that, in Christ, there is neither St. Louis nor “out-state”; neither black nor white; and that Ferguson is not just about “them,” but really about “us”?

I have said that the only way we can put a stop to the cycle of violence and racism that continues to crop up and fester like a wound that will not heal is if we stop seeing the Michael Brown’s of the world as “their” son, brother, father, uncle, cousin, and recognize that he is “our” son, brother, father, uncle, cousin.  We must accept the responsibility that we are all connected and if one part of the body of Christ is hurting, we must address that.  Sometimes, this will result in conflict.  Often times that conflict seems rooted in the fear that to acknowledge the right of another person or group of people to function fully in perfect love and freedom would somehow take something away from somebody else.  To get away from that thinking requires one to do as St. Paul was saying in his letter to the Romans when he calls on his audience to not be conformed to this world…this world of the I’ve got mine; screw you…and allow the mind to be renewed and transformed to discern God’s will.  That will, inevitably, will lead one to see that perfect love and freedom trumps fear. Always.

Who is Jesus Christ?  The greatest liberator from oppression ever, and the mediator and advocate I turn to in these trying times.  

 

Being Transfigured

Happy Transfiguration Day!  

I know: not a big day on the calendar.  The mail still was delivered, the banks were open, and no stores were running any sales (although this would be a great day for a laundromat to proclaim that they can get your whites radiantly clean!)

Even for the church, this isn't a day special enough to transfer its celebration to the nearest Sunday.  But this is a really big day, even if its not tied to a special season or grand occasion.  Because what sets this day apart, amidst our "ordinary" time, is the pulling back, momentarily, of the veil to show Jesus standing between the Law (Moses) and the Prophets (Elijah), his clothes a dazzingly white, and the cloud comes down on the mountain and announces to Peter, John and James: "This is my Son, the Beloved.  Listen to him!"  Jesus himself, the man, has not changed in his outward appearance.  But Jesus, as well as his friends who witnessed this incredible event, have been transfigured by what's happened.  Or more plainly stated, they've been transformed and changed.  The disciples have seen that Jesus is completely at One with God.  Jesus, from here on out in the Gospels, understands that he must go to Jerusalem to complete the work that he's been given to do.

The longer I keep on this journey, the more I realize that the transforming nature of contact with the Holy is not just a one-off; each moment, each encounter, each experience of the Presence of that power shapes and changes us.  We don't come in contact with the Holy and stay the same.

I think back on Holy Week 2013 in which I had two very profound moments in which I engaged in actively ministering to another.  There was the woman who was anguished because she said her husband was in a county jail and accused of a crime he didn't commit.  She was with a few others protesting for his release in front of the state Capitol building where our PFLAG group was about to have a rally. I wanted her to know that she was welcome to stay there, but we had booked the space and would be occupying the area by the steps.  This woman opened up to me, tears in her eyes, as she poured out her story.  In the back of my mind, I knew I needed to keep working on getting things set up for our rally.  But in front of me was a woman who was hurting and burdenened.  I listened patiently and, for this moment, went into that pain with her, acknowledging her hurt and frustration at the system.  She brought up God, and I assured her that God had not forgotten her or her husband.  We hugged and she and her friends moved on.   That same week, I intervened to stop a sheriff's deputy from arresting a tall African-American man named Moses for the crime of praying in Carter Chapel at St. John's during the Maundy Thursday vigil.   A part of me had wanted to move on and not get involved in this.  But the better part of me forced me out of my silence to not only speak up and get the officer to see reason, but also go so far as to say, "I will vouch for this man."  

Sandwiched between these two events was my mom's massive stroke, and that feeling of fear and helplessness, and reliance on the kindness of strangers... and my rector... to minister to me at a time of great need.    Each of these moments transformed me and served as the reminder of what we heard today in 2 Corinthians at Morning Prayer:

 "(S)ince it is by God’s mercy that we are engaged in this ministry, we do not lose heart. We have renounced the shameful things that one hides; we refuse to practise cunning or to falsify God’s word; but by the open statement of the truth we commend ourselves to the conscience of everyone in the sight of God. And even if our gospel is veiled, it is veiled to those who are perishing. In their case the god of this world has blinded the minds of the unbelievers, to keep them from seeing the light of the gospel of the glory of Christ, who is the image of God. For we do not proclaim ourselves; we proclaim Jesus Christ as Lord and ourselves as your slaves for Jesus’ sake. For it is the God who said, ‘Let light shine out of darkness’, who has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ."

It's up to us to allow our compassionate selves to shine, and be willing to get involved when it is necessary and when it is truly the need for us to reflect the glory of God to one another.

May we all be so moved and transfigured in our beings!

Mary, Martha, Lazarus and the Philadelphia Eleven

On this day the Lord has acted;We will rejoice and be glad in it! (Ps. 118:24)

I imagine these words are on the lips of many in the Episcopal Church today as we commemorate this date in history, forty years ago, when three male bishops from the United States, joined by the bishop of Costa Rica, laid hands on eleven women and ordained them into the sacred order of priests.  It was the first time the church had allowed women to be part of the sacramental priesthood since a bishop in Asia made Florence Li Tim-Oi a priest in the 1940s.  The Anglican Communion quashed her ability to function as a priest, but Rev. Li Tim-Oi never renounced her orders.

This act, denounced at the time as "irregular," is now quite common throughout the Episcopal Church.  The Church's General Convention in 1976 agreed it was time to recognize not only the Philadelphia Eleven, and the Washington Four that followed the next year; it was time for the Church to get on with accepting that God calls whoever God wants into the role of a sacramental priest, most especially the least likely characters.  At that time, it was women.  In recent times, it is members of the lesbian and gay and transgender communities.

To read a wonderful, personal reflection on this historic event, I direct you to "Telling Secrets" to read Elizabeth Kaeton's sermon from this past Sunday.

I was too young to have a definitive memory of this momentous occasion in the church.  I hadn't quite reached first grade yet.  But I do remember that not too long afterwards, sometime around 1979, Christ Church in Exeter called the Rev. Fran Potter to be our deacon.  And I was in awe to see a woman standing in the front of the church in an alb.  I remember secretly praying at her inaugural service that everything would go well for her.  I realized there were rumblings among some of the older members that we were participating in some "experiment" by having a female deacon.  But it was an experiment that said to me, and likely every girl sitting in the pews on Sundays, "The kingdom of heaven includes you, too!"   I now had a sister-in-Christ-and-in-arms in my own effort to bust the gender norms of the church.  I had already wrecked the convention of casting girls as angels and boys as shepherds in the Christmas pageant.

"I want to play a shepherd," I told the pageant director.

"But, Susie, little girls are angels.  Little boys are shepherds."

"Well, then, I want to be a shepherdess!"

Worn out from arguing with a child, I was allowed to don a robe and a head dress and played a shepherdess.  I knew I could do it.  They were supposed to be afraid of the angel Gabriel, and I could shiver and quiver better than any of the boys.

That same time of the arrival of Deacon Potter, I pressed to become an acolyte.  Our rector insisted that I had to be confirmed first.

"Why?" I demanded.

(This didn't go over well.  Children were never to ask the rector questions).  He kept giving me excuses and pats on the head, and telling me I'd have to wait.  But I kept saying that I wanted to do this now, and that I shouldn't have to wait until I was confirmed.

And, just like my insistence years earlier that I wanted to be a shepherd, my rector agreed to let me be trained to be an acolyte.  It was only later, when I had left and gone to college after serving for seven years along side the priests at Christ Church, that my rector confided to my mother that allowing me to be an acolyte at that time was one of his best decisions.  He was taking a lot of flack from people about women in the priesthood, women serving at the altar, women being front and center as part of the sacramental life of the church.

"Well, what about Judge Gage's daughter?" he would ask.  "Should she be allowed to assist with the setting of the Lord's Table?"

That would usually end the discussion because most of the older and more staid members of our congregation loved to watch me at the altar, lighting or extinguishing the candles, bringing the cruets of wine and water to the priest.  I made these members feel as if they were in a cathedral in a big city instead of our little low Protestant Episcopal Church on Pine Street.  I was one of these kids who didn't shuffle my feet as I walked.  I was precise and reverent.  If only they knew that I was cracking jokes as I handed the elements to the priest as the altar was being set!

What they did know was that I was acceptable... even as a girl with long hair... as someone who was performing a sacramental role in the service.  And if they could agree that "Judge Gage's daughter was OK," they very quickly understood that anybody's daughter was truly God's daughter... especially the ones who had been ordained.  Without knowing it, I had helped the rector make the case for women priests to the reticent and grumpy ones in our congregation.

I titled this entry "Mary, Martha, Lazarus and the Philadelphia Eleven."  Today, in the church calendar, the "official" saints of the day are the two sisters and their brother from Bethany.  One could celebrate their day with their readings... or one could use alternate readings set out for this anniversary of the first eleven women ordained in the Episcopal Church.  Interestingly, the Gospel lesson pulled for that recognition is from Luke 10, the story of Mary sitting at Jesus' feet as Martha rushes around and finally demands that Jesus tell Mary to get up and help her in the kitchen.  Jesus gently reminds Martha that "Mary has chosen the better part."  This is often seen as Jesus lending weight and credence to those who engage with Him in a contemplative, rather than an active, prayer life.  But, as I have said in other postings, I think we have to be careful to not put too much emphasis on one form of prayer or the other being "better than."

We need both Mary energy and Martha energy in our lives.  And we need Lazarus, too, who is absent from this particular reading, but probably was in the background allowing Luke to give women center stage in a gospel story.  I think this story is a good one to use with the remembrance of the courageous act done out of obedience to Love back in 1974.  Certainly the women who took part had spent many hours figuratively sitting at the foot of the Savior and inquiring much of what they should do with the inner stirrings of their hearts.  And finally it took taking an action to answer the call, an action which required the aid of men willing to defy the orders of then Presiding Bishop John Allin not to do it, to make this happen and move the church forward.  Fitting that the collect for Mary, Martha, and Lazarus reads:

Generous God, whose Son Jesus Christ enjoyed the friendship and hospitality of Mary, Martha and Lazarus of Bethany: Open our hearts to love you, our ears to hear you, and our hands to welcome and serve you in others, through Jesus Christ our risen Lord; who with you and the Holy Spirit lives and reigns, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

What those women did in 1974 was to be the visible sign to all of the generous nature of God, and to open more hearts, ears and hands to enter into the service of Christ to the world.  Let us rejoice and be glad in it!

The Trouble That's Brewing

This week, I've been gobsmacked at the news I've been hearing.

Apparently, a five-member, and all-male, majority of the United States Supreme Court has decided that not only are corporations considered "people," these bricks-and-mortar-over-the-internet-add-appropriate-sales-taxes-"people" have religious freedom, and can freely exercise their religious beliefs to opt out of portions of the mandated Affordable Care Act; namely, no birth control coverage for female employees... but coverage of male erectile dysfunction drugs is OK.

Putting aside what anyone thinks or believes about abortion and birth control, this is a dangerous precedent that the high court is establishing.  As I understand it, what these five men are saying is that any corporate CEO can claim "religious freedom" to skirt laws that he or she doesn't like because now a "closely held for-profit business" is an extension of the CEO's "personhood."

And who is most likely to invoke this "religious freedom"?  Businesses such as Hobby Lobby, who say paying for contraception violates their "Christian" values.

As I attempted to make sense of all of that, with the fast and furious opinions flying on Facebook, I found myself engaged in a lengthy phone conversation with a young man from Southwest Georgia. His parents, upon learning of his homosexuality, have thrown him out of their house, cut-off contact with him and are forbidding him from having any contact with other family members.  And, in the course of listening to this scared young man, he told me how many times his parents or his grandmother or his  aunt were telling him that he was "going to Hell" because the "Bible says this is an abomination!" They believe this because, they say, they're Christians.

And then there was the news last night of the angry mobs of white people who blocked a road and screamed at the people inside three buses.  The buses were carrying mostly undocumented immigrant children from Central America.  This gathering in a small town in California could have been South Boston in the 1970s, or the Deep South in the 1960s.  How ironic that this story ran on the same night that we, as a nation, were marking 50 years since the signing of the Federal Voting Rights Act designed to allow blacks the right to vote.

This scene, looking so similar to the violence African-Americans and the Freedom Riders faced in Alabama and elsewhere, is being played out again... this time with Central Americans in a Southern California town.  No doubt, some of those screaming the loudest at these children were probably doing so with a crucifix hanging around their necks.

Christianity is in trouble.  Not because of atheists or non-Christians.  Not because there is rampant discrimination and persecution of Christians in the United States.  Not because gay and lesbian people are getting married.  Christianity is in trouble because Christ, who should have been resurrected and ascended, is still being crucified by the very people who say that they are His followers.  Each time people who claim the mantle of Christ exhibit behavior like screaming at children, throwing teenagers out of their homes, and denying female employees a health benefit because it offends the religious beliefs of a company owner, it is the bang-bang-bang of the nails into the Body of Christ.  Worse yet, these "christians" become the face of Christ that the media is more than happy to share with a public that feeds on cynicism and division.  I've said it before that Christians are the ones waging war on Christians in this country.  It's one thing to say that Jesus Christ is Lord and Savior; it is an entirely different thing to behave and live a life that actually models the ministry of Christ.

As often happens, I was struck in yesterday's Morning Prayer with the words from Psalm 119:

Let my cry come before you, O LORD;     give me understanding, according to your word.

	Let me live, and I will praise you,     and let your judgments help me.
	I have gone astray like a sheep that is lost;  search for your servant, for I do not forget your commandments.

As I watch and listen to all this anti-Christ behavior by my fellow sisters and brothers in Christ, I am grieved.  It feels to me as if those who profess a belief in Jesus Christ have gone astray like lost sheep, and not only do they need Christ to come looking for them, they need to start looking for Christ in the eyes of the people they are cursing.  How is it Christian to scream at people?  What part of one's Christian belief is under attack if other people get a prescription for birth control?  Again, from Morning Prayer, we heard the story of Balaam and Balak.   Balaam was supposed to curse the Israelites, but God placed a blessing on his tongue:

"How can I curse whom God has not cursed?
How can I denounce those whom the Lord has not denounced?" (Num.23:8)

I think about the situation with the19 year-old who has parents and family who have turned their backs on him. Despite the things said to him, I told this young man he isn't going to Hell.  God has not cursed him; his parents have done that.  And by doing so, they have denied the Christ in him.  Same thing with the immigrant children being screamed at as they sat inside a bus which had driven from Texas to California to a processing center.  And to add more financial burden to female workers by denying them a portion of their health care coverage is not something that has come from God either.  For a "closely held" corporation to wrap itself in religion over that issue, and be allowed to do it, is mind-boggling.

Christians who keep asserting that their religion is under attack have no earthly idea what it is to really have their lives threatened for their religious beliefs.  Their children are not kidnapped and forced into adopting another religion.  Their books are not banned or burned.  Their homes are not invaded and their women raped.  No, the "christians" in this country are claiming that because this is a pluralistic society and they must share the gifts that God have given all people, they are under attack.  This makes a mockery of those who are truly under threat for their religious beliefs, while denying the seed of God that is present in all others. I don't remember that being in the Gospel.

I looked ahead to the Collect of the Day, Proper 9:

"O God, you have taught us to keep all your commandments by loving you and our neighbor: Grant us the grace of your Holy Spirit that we may be devoted to you with our whole heart, and united to one another with pure affection; through Jesus Christ our Lord who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit one God for ever and ever. Amen." 

Seems like a good starting point for the reflection and return to Christ necessary to save Christianity from itself!

The Ascension and Angelou

As I woke up this morning and thought about this being Ascension Day, that day we remember  when Christ ascended into heaven,  my mind kept drifting back to the events of yesterday.  The poet, author, civil rights and social justice activist Maya Angelou died peacefully in her sleep at her home in North Carolina.  She was 86 years old.  There was no immediate cause of death given.  In fact, word is that she was laughing and planning for a Fourth of July celebration when she went to bed on the night of May 27th.  She'd been frail these past few years, and those close to her were saying her death wasn't unexpected.  Just not now.  

I imagine that this sadness and bewilderment at the death of such a huge figure in American literature and life was similar to how the apostles must have felt when Jesus physically leaves them again to ascend and sit at the right hand of God.  He's spent time preparing them for this departure with the promises that another is coming to dwell with them and give them the strength and courage to carry on.   And then he is gone, lifted up into the sky much the same way his Jewish ancestor Elijah rode off into heaven.  Like those of us who saw the news of Angelou's death trickling in over social media feeds, I wouldn't be surprised if they were staring, blinking up at the sky, and thinking, "We heard him say he was going to go.  But did it have to be now?"

In a word, yes.  Yes, he has to go now.  He has given all that he had.  He has equipped them with the knowledge and wisdom to live life.  Now, it's time for them to do it.  And he gives them that reassuring message from the end of the Matthew Gospel, "Remember I am with you always to the end of the age."

My introduction to Maya Angelou's writing came in prep school.  We had to read books over the summer that would be the subject of our first test in our English classes upon our return to school.  For me, the slow reader, this felt like a dreaded compulsory exercise, and not a pleasant one at that.  But usually there was at least one book on the list that I could enjoy.  Angelou's "I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings," was one of those books for me.  Her autobiography gripped me with its frankness about rape, and the ability of the young Maya to claim her place in a world of sexism and racism.  Later in college, I discovered what a gift I'd been given to have read Angelou in high school.  Many of my classmates in a junior level English course which doubled as Women's Studies had never read her, or Richard Wright, or even Malcolm X (I had chosen to read "The Autobiography of Malcolm X" in the 8th Grade.)  

Yesterday's news of Angelou's death left many on Facebook devastated.  Some of my friends changed their profile pictures to a portrait of Maya Angelou.  Lots of them posted messages and videos of interviews with her and some of her poetry readings.   

One of her poems, "Still I Rise," seemed particularly appropriate for Ascension Day.

Much in the same way that Christ's final departure from the planet and from his friends is an invitation for them to live on in the spirit he shared with them, I feel that we, who held Dr. Angelou in high esteem as a poet voice for our country, are now invited to heed her words of wisdom and live into them.  It is one of the comforts an artist leaves behind: the body of their life's work when their soul has left the physical body to become part of the heavenly body.  Maya Angelou used words and her voice to guide us into that same direction of Christ to live life, and not be boring.  Let's do it!

Michael Sam: Standing Tall in the Face of Foolishness

I have one thing to say about the NFL draft and Michael Sam:

Mizzou-RAH!!!!!!!!!

I couldn't be happier for this guy, and his opportunity to play professional football as an out and proud gay man.  Hats off to Jeff Fisher and the St. Louis Rams for drafting him, even if it was later in the game than one would have expected for an All-American and SEC co-Defensive Player of the Year.  Playing in the SEC is essentially like playing semi-pro football, so I am confident that Michael Sam is ready for the big leagues.  He's dedicated.  He wants to work hard.  He loves the game of football.  And above all things, he's a Missouri Tiger.

Can I get an M-I-Z!?  (your answer to that is: Z-O-U!)

Of course, this draft pick, and the picture of him kissing his boyfriend, a former Mizzou swimmer named Vito Cammisano, has sparked outrage among the haters.  I have to wonder which offends them more: that two men are seen kissing each other, or that the two men happen to be an interracial gay couple?  It's hard to know these days when there's so much acrimony in the air about people in love.

Never mind that many of us, including the LGBTQI crowd, have had to watch many, many images of heterosexual joy on the sidelines of football games.  Does it not bother Alabama fans that their quarterback was dating a woman from Auburn?

If folks weren't all tied up into knots over the kiss, then it was the fact that the historic moment received any attention at all that drove some to flame on their Twitter feeds.  A member of the FSU football team actually defended the honor of the school's rival, the University of Florida's Tim Tebow, to take a swipe at the hype about Michael Sam:

"Y'all praise Michael Sam for being gay but y'all mocked Tim Tebow for being Christian. SMH. #society."

Here we go: Christian athletes don't get no respect and gay ones get too much.  Let's start with the fact that there is nothing novel about being a "Christian" athlete.  Christians on sports teams have been openly displaying their faith, both through gestures of prayer or by starting every interview by thanking God.  There is even a Fellowship of Christian Athletes, which is very active on the Florida State campus. In short, being a Christian athlete isn't a big deal.  

And while there were some who mocked Tim Tebow for his kneeling in prayer and pointing to the sky during games, there were just as many who loved him for it and praised him for not being afraid to exhibit public displays of affection for God.  When Tebow first entered the NFL, there was a lot of excitement and speculation that he might be a great player... especially if he learned to play another position besides quarterback.

That's where Tim Tebow fell down.  According to all reports, while Tebow is a great guy and sincere about his faith in Christ, he would not let go of his dream to play quarterback in the NFL.  That's really too bad because I think if he had trusted that his coaches knew what was better for him, he would still be playing.  Perhaps as a tight end for the New England Patriots, catching passes from Tom Brady.

Tim Tebow's failure to cut it in the NFL wasn't about Tim Tebow being a Christian.  It was about Tim Tebow being attached to a position where he wasn't needed and wasn't going to get to play.

Furthermore, the suggestion from all of this smokescreen about Christian athletes presumes that Michael Sam is not a Christian.  I don't know if he is or isn't, or if he professes to belong to any particular faith.  I do know that my college friend, the Very Rev. Mike Kinman who is dean of Christ Church Cathedral in St. Louis, issued an open invitation via Facebook for Michael and his boyfriend to join them for services on Sunday, and even noted that if they came to the 8am, they'd be able to get to the stadium in plenty of time for the kick-off for the early games!  He included the hashtags #JesusLoves #WeDoToo.   Truth via Twitter.

For his part, Michael Sam seems to be just preparing to play football and appreciating the love of his new fans in St. Louis.  I think it's great that he is joining an organization there in the Show Me State where he'll be close to his college roots in Columbia, and fans who loved him so much that they gave him a standing ovation at a basketball game shortly after he came out.  I'm proud that my alma mater, and the city of Columbia, has become a place where it isn't nearly as scary to be "out" as it was even 24 years ago when I was graduating from Journalism School.  One of the shops down town has a window display with the T-shirts bearing a new slogan, "We Are All CoMosexuals."

M-I-Z!!