Sister Joan Chittister famously said, "We are each called to go through life reclaiming the planet an inch at a time until the Garden of Eden grows green again." Reflecting on that journey -- a blog at a time -- is the focus of this site.
Born on December 7, 1913 he enlisted in the Army on his 28th birthday to "defend the Constitution against all enemies, foreign and domestic."
A lifelong Republican I guarantee you he is rolling in his grave at what has become of his Grand Old Party and the real and present threat to the American Values he held dear.
It is not hyperbolic to contend that the challenges to the American Dream are as dire today as they were in 1941 and the need to enlist to defend our Constitution no less urgent.
Do what Bill did. Enlist somewhere. Make a plan. Join a movement. Take a stand. La lucha continua ("the struggle continues") -- be part of it.
My first Diocesan Convention was in 1988. Fred Borsch was our new bishop and I was a new vestry member at St. Paul's in Ventura -- finding my way around the church of my birth and baptism after my obligatory young adult lapsed phase. I took my place in the councils of my church with a convention credential that read "Mrs. Anthony Russell" ... never mind that Mr. Anthony Russell only darkened the parish door on Christmas and Easter. That was then and this is now.
As I get myself organized to head to the Ontario Convention Center tomorrow morning for what will be my 29th Annual Meeting of the Diocese of Los Angeles I'm remembering a lot of moments from our conventions past. Powerful moments of the church gathered in all its diversity putting faith into action through corporate prayers and collective action. Poignant moments as we responded to the challenges of pressing issues facing us as a community of faith with candlelight vigils: AIDS, hate crimes, gun violence, Islamophobia.
I'm also remembering the days when any deviation from the "Father, Son & Holy Spirit" formulary for the Trinity would result in a line of dour, clergymen in dark suits at the microphones using "a point of personal privilege" as the opportunity to bewail the erosion of orthodoxy as a foretaste of the end of civilization as we know it.
I'm remembering the time when women literally flipped coins to decide who would run for diocesan office because otherwise they would "cancel each other out" ... and there was no way to elect TWO women.
And I'm remembering being told by mentors in seminary that I needed to "lose the red blazer." "Red is a power color," they told me. "And you already scare them too much -- so put it away until we get you ordained." And so I did.
That was then and this is now. For all the challenges we face as a diocese -- and I am neither blind nor indifferent to any of them -- after twenty-nine years of taking my place in the council of this church ... this Episcopal Church ... this Diocese of Los Angeles ... when I look how far we've come I am convinced there is nothing we can't overcome, heal, and improve as we move forward together.
In 1988 I could not have imagined we would become a place where our slate of candidates for bishop would reflect the diversity it does, where our convention liturgies are both bilingual and gender inclusive, where the challenges we face are brought to the floor -- not swept under a rug, and where we continue to take prophetic stands on issues of peace, justice and compassion.
So let's do this, Los Angeles. Let's say our prayers and pack our bags and head to Ontario for two days of legislation, liturgy and shopping all under one roof. And then let's come together as we start a new chapter in the mission and ministry of the Episcopal Diocese of Los Angeles with our coadjutor-elect and with the confidence that given the road we've traveled so far there's nowhere we can't go together as we live into God's future.
God bless. See you in Ontario!
Susan Russell
All Saints Church, Pasadena
PS -- We'll be tweeting from Ontario so follow #ladiocese2016 on Twitter
And so it begins. Once again
we enter a new church year with the lighting of the first candle on the Advent
wreath – the candle of Hope. And just like every year for as long as anybody
can remember we pray the familiar prayers, sing the familiar hymns and settle
into the familiar season of preparation for the coming of our Lord beginning
with the prayer we always pray on the First Sunday of Advent …
Give us grace to cast away the works of darkness.
We pray those words this
morning with a deep awareness of the darkness and division dominating the
discourse in our nation, the violence and oppression dominating the world news
and the sad truth that the peace on
earth, goodwill to all incarnate in the One whose birth we prepare to
celebrate seems further away than ever this year.
When she spoke at our
Diocesan Convention in 2008 then Presiding Bishop Katharine Jefferts Schori called
Advent “the season when Christians are
called to live with more hope than the world thinks is reasonable” … and not
surprisingly her words ring even more true to me today than they did eight
years ago.
Nevertheless it is our call –
it is our challenge – it is our opportunity – to choose hope … even when we’re
not feeling very hopeful.
Wednesday night at our
Thanksgiving Eve service the homily was centered on a Thanksgiving prayer from
our friend Diana Butler Bass. And it occurs to me this morning that her wise
words about choosing gratitude on Thanksgiving also apply to choosing hope
during Advent … and so let me paraphrase:
God,
there are days we do not feel hopeful. When we are anxious or angry. When we
feel alone. When we do not understand what is happening in the world, or with
our neighbors. God, this Advent, we do
not feel hope. We choose it. And we will make hope, with strong hands and
courageous hearts.
Reframing hope from something
we feel to something we choose shifts our gears from passive to
active. Augustine of Hippo – one of the
great fathers of the early church -- famously said: “Hope has two beautiful
daughters. Their names are anger and courage; anger at the way things are, and
courage to see that they do not remain the way they are.”
Come, O Christ, and dwell among us
Hear our cries, come set us free.
Give us hope and faith and gladness.
Show us what there yet can be.
We light this Candle of Hope
with prayers of thanksgiving for those choosing to channel their anger and
muster their courage by mobilizing around the shared values of love, justice
and compassion.
Those who gathered in
solidarity at the Dolores Mission last week to organize for resistance in the
wake of the presidential election.
Those who stand with water
protectors at Standing Rock as winter descends onto the North Dakota plains.
Those who work to guarantee
that the equal protection guaranteed by the Constitution equally protects all –
not just some – Americans.
For all those refusing to
accept what is and showing us what there yet can be.
We choose hope as the armor
of light we put on during Advent -- light that is a light to ALL people …
especially those already marginalized and oppressed by the systemic “works of darkness” we name as the
racism, sexism, homophobia and nativism that pervaded our civic discourse
during the election cycle.
And let us be abundantly
clear this morning my brothers and sisters: these systemic works of darkness
have always been part of the warp
and woof of our national fabric. Dismantling them is not a post-election
addition to our job description to “strive for justice and peace among all
people, and respect the dignity of every human being.”
Rather -- for me -- this
election cycle and its aftermath is like a rock that gets turned over in the
garden and out from under it crawls all sorts of creepy, crawly, slimy, scary
looking things that have been there all along but now we have no choice but to
see them. To deal with them.
Those of us who have been
protected by our privilege up until now from having to deal with them can’t
“unsee them” – even if we want to. We can’t just put the rock back and pretend
they’re not there.
For the truth
is that this election told me what my head already knew: that we are a nation
deeply divided and that the deep-seated combo of privilege and patriarchy are
powerful roadblocks in the decades old journey toward making liberty and
justice for all in this nation not just a pledge we make but a reality we live.
Or as the
widely circulated meme names it: “When
you’re used to privilege, equality feels like oppression.”
The irony that
liberty and justice won the popular vote is small consolation as the dust
settles and we watch white privilege and patriarchy poised to dismantle the
safety nets and protections attempting to guarantee equal protection for all –
not just some – Americans.
And so to my
well meaning friends and colleagues – and some relatives -- who have quickly
moved to calls to “wait and see” and “hope for the best” my response is this
quote from Rabbi Abraham Heschel: “Patience
is a quality of holiness, but it may be sloth in the soul when associated with
the lack of righteous indignation.” As a Christian – as a priest and pastor
– I am righteously indignant at what is happening in our nation not in spite of being a follower of Jesus but because I am a follower of
Jesus.
And I am also deeply grateful for these words from Gay Clark Jennings – the President
of our Episcopal Church’s House of Deputies:
“Reconciliation is holy work. Resistance is too ... When the agendas of the
president-elect and the new Congress scapegoat people of color and Muslims,
deprive our fellow citizens of control over their lives, desecrate God’s
creation or enrich the wealthy at the expense of the poor, we must oppose them.
This is not a partisan political statement; it is a confession of faith.”
Advent is time
for hope -- not a necessarily a time for patience. It is a time to use our
collective righteous indignation as fuel for the holy work of resistance. It is
a time to recognize that as the dust continues to settle one aspect of our
post-election reality is the pulverization of the silos of competing
oppressions that have too often separated us from those who are in fact our
allies in the larger struggle.
This is no
longer some straight people standing
with gay people because their right to marriage is threatened; this is no
longer some Christians standing with
Muslims because their Mosque is under attack; this is no longer some white allies marching in Black
Lives Matter protests or some
cisgender folks showing up in solidarity on the Transgender Day of Remembrance.
This is all of
us under attack at the same time by the same agenda – an agenda antithetical to
the core values of both Christianity and the Constitution. If we’re not
righteously indignant we’re abdicating our responsibility to both our faith and
to our country – and it is my prayer this First Sunday of Advent that our
indignation will fuel our commitment to choose hope … even when we’re not
feeling hopeful.
For when we choose hope -- when we put on
that armor of the light of love, justice and compassion -- we can move again into
active participation in bending that arc of the moral universe a little closer
to justice by our shared witness to the God who created us all in love and
called us to walk in love with each other. When we choose hope we not only can
– we will – cast away the works of
darkness.
One last quote – this one
from Harvey Milk. “Hope will never be
silent.”
A bullet may have silenced
Harvey Milk – but it did not silence the hope his life, work and witness
inspired. May his example challenge us to refuse to allow an election to
silence the hope that is in us as we continue to look for ways – large and
small – to cast away the works of darkness with the light of God’s love,
justice and compassion.
For some of us, one small way
has been wearing a safety pin as an “outward and visible sign” that we are a
"safe place" – and that we will stand up for the rights of every
single person.
Now let’s be
clear: Thinking you can stick a safety pin on your lapel and make liberty and
justice for all a done deal is like hanging a cross around your neck and
thinking you've made the kingdom come on earth as it is in heaven.
It's just a sign -- just a symbol -- of the commitment to be part of the
solution. It is an icon of solidarity that transcends all the labels that have
been deployed to divide us. It is one tiny way of taking hope out into the
world – of refusing to be silent – of speaking hope to a world in desperate
need of it.
For me it spoke one morning in line at Starbucks. As I waited patiently for my
grande drip with room for cream, a young woman in a hijab turned from the
counter with her Venti something-or-the-other in her hand and looked at me
standing there with my big fat safety pin on my shirt. She smiled and nodded
her head ever-so-slightly ... and in that moment of recognition I got all I
needed to tell me that wearing a safety pin can be one of the ways we work to
cast away the works of darkness – a tiny but concrete way to choose hope as we
journey together beyond the world as it is to the place God would have it be.
Come, O Christ and dwell among us! Hear our cries, come set us
free.
Give us hope and faith and gladness. Show us what there yet can be.
Set us free to be the change you call
us to be.
Set us free to live your love.
Set us free to be your justice.
Set us free to journey into the adventure of God’s future this Advent and
always.
Amen.
The analytics on my Twitter feed tell me my most retweeted tweet from last week was “I thought by now I’d be less nauseous.”
That data tells me what my heart already knew: that I am not alone in my struggle to process both the immediate impact and the long term implications of an election giving the most divisive and unqualified candidate in the history of politics the power to implement the misogynistic, racist, homophobic, Islamophobic, nativist, xenocentric policies which were the hallmark of his campaign.
Likewise, the election told me what my head already knew: that we are a nation deeply divided and that the deep-seated combo of privilege and patriarchy are powerful roadblocks in the decades old journey toward making liberty and justice for all in this nation not just a pledge we make but a reality we live. The widely circulated meme names it with this quote: “When you’re used to privilege, equality feels like oppression.”
The irony that liberty and justice won the popular vote is small consolation as the dust settles and we watch white privilege and patriarchy poised to dismantle the safety nets and protections in place to guarantee that equal protection equally protects all – not just some – Americans.
To my well meaning friends and colleagues who have quickly moved to calls to “wait and see” and “hope for the best” my response is this quote from Rabbi Abraham Heschel: “Patience is a quality of holiness, but it may be sloth in the soul when associated with the lack of righteous indignation.” For as a Christian – as a priest and pastor – I am righteously indignant at what is happening in our nation not in spite of being a follower of Jesus but because I am a follower of Jesus — and not feeling at all patient.
And so I take heart in these words from Gay Clark Jennings – the President of our Episcopal Church House of Deputies. She writes: “Reconciliation is holy work. Resistance is too. When the agendas of the president-elect and the new Congress scapegoat people of color and Muslims, deprive our fellow citizens of control over their lives, desecrate God’s creation or enrich the wealthy at the expense of the poor, we must oppose them. This is not a partisan political statement; it is a confession of faith.”
This is not a time for patience. This is a time to use our collective righteous indignation as fuel for the holy work of resistance. This is a time to recognize that as the dust continues to settle one aspect of our post-election reality is the pulverization of the silos of competing oppressions that have too often separated us from those who are in fact our allies in the larger struggle.
This is no longer some straight people standing with gay people because their right to marriage is threatened; this is no longer some Christians standing with Muslims because their Mosque is under attack; this is no longer some white allies marching in Black Lives Matter protests or some cisgender folks showing up in solidarity on the Transgender Day of Remembrance. This is all of us under attack at the same time by the same agenda – an agenda antithetical to the core values of both Christianity and the Constitution.
And if we’re not righteously indignant we’re abdicating our responsibility to both our faith and to our country.
I thought by now I’d be less nauseous. But now that I think about it, I was nauseous for nine months twice – and ended up with two great kids to show for it. That was then and this is now. And now ... in this moment ... the stakes are way too high to let waves of nausea at every breaking news update immobilize us. Way too high.
So count me in. Count me in for reconciliation where it’s possible and resistance where it’s not – and count me in for solidarity in the struggle until liberty and justice for all finally becomes a reality we live, not just a pledge we make.
"When the going gets tough, the tough light candles."
OK -- I made that up. But here at Casa Mountain View it's true.
Make no mistake about it -- we also [a] get going [b] keep giving [c] keep organizing and [d] keep networking ... but we also keep praying and -- in our case -- keep adding to our "Election Shrine" on the sideboard of "outward and visible signs" of what's at stake in this election representing our prayers and positive energy being sent out into the universe.
From the Hillary swag to the Betty Friedan "secular saint" candle to the Constitution to the Jordan River Holy Water given to me by my sister-in-law's Jewish partner (I know -- seriously!) it just keeps growing. Along with my conviction that this is arguably the most important election of my lifetime.
So -- on this day before Election Day -- here (one more time) is why #ImWithHer
Her cohesive commitment to dismantle the interlocking oppressions of racism, sexism and homo/transphobia and to address the root causes of economic injustice in our nation exemplifies the broad range thinking I believe we need in the White House.
She is doggedly committed to tackling the seemingly intractable issue of gun violence in our nation and to taking on the NRA to move us forward on sensible gun safety legislation.
Her support for Planned Parenthood and women's reproductive justice is tireless, proven and powerful.
Her experience as Secretary of State means there is no "learning curve" on foreign policy -- an issue I think is critical in these volatile and challenging times.
Finally, I am inspired by the aspiration to "make America whole" -- which I hear as a paraphrase of the liberty and justice for all I've been pledging to work for since I learned to put my hand over my heart and turn to the flag in kindergarten. And I am convinced in order to do that we need everyone at the table -- and that we need a President who has the hope, the vision and the track record to not only secure the advances of the past eight years but move us into the future.
This will be the 12th Presidential Election in which I've had the privilege to vote. I have never not had some reservations about the candidate I supported -- and that includes Hillary Clinton.
I wish she had been stronger earlier on LGBT Equality. She is more of a hawk than I would like.
I disagree with her on the death penalty.
And ... all things considered ... I do not believe I ever cast a vote for a more qualified candidate for President than I did when I (early) voted for her.
I'm Susan Russell and I totally approved this message
I meant to post this earlier but the week got away from me. Here's my sermon from Sunday, October 9 ... with thanks to Liz Habecker, Jack Spong, Jan Nunley and Delonte Gholston. I was totally preaching to myself ... and a week later, still am.
October 9,
2016 | All Saints Church, Pasadena
Send us anywhere you would have us go, only go there
with us.
Place upon us
any burden you desire, only
stand by us to sustain us.
Break any tie
that binds us, except the tie that binds us to you.
Amen.
A week ago Friday I sat on my
porch and wrote these words:
On
what is for me a Sabbath day I am embracing gratitude for health, friends and
family; for a new chapter beginning at All Saints; for the gifts of romping dogs
and baseball -- especially this weekend the gift of Vin Scully. For music,
theater and art that expresses what words alone cannot -- and for the pulse of
love, justice and compassion beating at the heart of the universe.
And
I am acknowledging this morning the toll that the deep ache of grief and
sadness which saturates the very fabric of our beautiful and broken world is
taking on my soul. The ugliness and polarization of this election cycle
pointing a spotlight on systemic racism, sexism and ignorance that contaminate
our nation.
The constantly growing list of hashtags that has become a numbing litany of the
heartbreaking reality that black lives do NOT matter as much as white lives in
our country. The scourge of gun violence that infects our nation -- taking the
lives of children in our streets and police officers in the line of duty. And
the very real fear of what impact the marshaling of forces and resources to
preserve white privilege and patriarchy will have -- not only on all those on
the margins but on what's left of the American Dream.
I
can't embrace the gratitude without acknowledging the grief -- and at the same
time I can't acquiesce to despair because of the gratitude. And so I sit on
this Sabbath day in the both/and vortex ... until the dryer buzzes and it's
time to fold laundry.
Shared on my Facebook page,
the comments in response told me I was not alone
in naming both the challenges and opportunities
of living in this moment in our history –
and that I am most certainly not alone
in the struggle to balance grief, gratitude
and a whole boatload of other feelings as well.
One place I go to for wisdom
in seeking that balance
is back to the words I began with this morning –
the words of the blessing I inherited
from the priest who mentored me through my ordination process 20 years ago –
words she inherited from her bishop Jack Spong 20 years earlier.
Send us anywhere you would have us go,
only go there
with us.
The very definition of being
Christians – followers of Jesus – is to be sent.
Indeed, the definition of the word “apostle” in Greek is “one who is sent
away.”
So as wonderful as it is to
gather here on Sunday morning
in this awesome space with
these fabulous people
and these gorgeous flowers
with this beautiful music
the point of our being here
is not our being here.
The point of our being here
is going there.
Of being sent.
Of going out from here as
beacons of God’s love, justice and compassion
in order to make a difference
in the world.
In order to build the
kingdom.
In other words the point of
the church is not what happens in the church.
The point of the church is
what happens in the world because of the church.
If you’ve spent more than two
or three Sundays
in the pews here at All
Saints Church none of that will come as news you.
But I remember when it was
news to me.
Born at Good Samaritan
Hospital and baptized at the Old Cathedral
I never remember not being
part of the church.
But I do remember the first
time I ever heard that going to church
was not the point of going to
church.
It was 1980-something and I
was a young mother at Saint Paul’s in Ventura.
There was a Wednesday night
soup and study series during Lent –
and I signed up to go …
partly because it was Lent
and I wanted to do something
to deepen my spiritual life
and partly because there was
child care
and I could talk to adults
for a couple of hours once a week.
One Wednesday night we had a visiting priest
from South India
and his subject was “building
the kingdom of God.”
And he used this example that
I’ve never forgotten.
He asked us to picture a big, tall, beautiful
building under construction.
And then he asked to picture
the scaffolding that surrounded the building
while it was under
construction … supporting it and framing it
as it rose into the sky until
it was ready to stand on its own.
He told us to think of the
building as the Kingdom of God
we’ve been called to build
here on earth as it is in heaven …
the kingdom we pray about
every time we pray the Lord’s Prayer.
And then he told us to think
of the scaffolding surrounding the building
as the church.
And this is the part where he rocked my world.
“The point of the church is
not the church
in the same way the point of
the scaffolding is not the scaffolding,” he said.
“The point of the church is
to build the kingdom.
And when the church gets it
wrong
is when it spends so much time
polishing, preserving and fussing
with the scaffolding that it
forgets to build the building –
forgets to build the
kingdom.”
It was in that moment in that
parish hall on that Wednesday in Lent
I realized for the first time
WHY it is we need the church –
and not just as a place to go
once a week to talk to adults!
I realized that the church is
not an end in itself –
but that it is essential to
our work of building the kingdom of God.
And that was a learning that
I took with me – eventually into seminary –
and have carried with me
through 20 years of ordained ministry.
Through those years I’ve had
plenty of opportunities to remember
that when the church becomes
an end in itself
rather than a means to build
the kingdom
it needs to be reminded of
what its purpose is – what its role is
– what its mission is.
The church – meant to be a
deliver system for the liberating love of God –
needs to be challenged to
take that message out into the world
just as Jeremiah challenged
the exiles in Babylon
to “seek the peace and
prosperity of the city” to which they had been sent.
Just so we are called to take
the Good News of God’s love, justice and compassion into the city … into the
streets … into our politics.
Yes, our politics. As my
brilliant friend Jan Nunley explains:
“Politics is the art and
science relating to citizens
making decisions in community
about their community.
Politics can be done well or
badly, by crooks or honest people,
but in the end, the business
of government is not to turn a profit for some,
but to order society, as
nearly as possible, for the good of all.”
To order society, as nearly as possible, for the good
of all.
Not the good of some.
Not the good of just those
who look like us, worship like us, or even vote like us.
The good of all
And that brings me to part
two of the prayer and blessing we began with this morning:
Place upon us any burden you desire
only stand by us to sustain us.
Today is October 9. A month
from today – November 9 –
the longest election cycle in
the history of voting will be over.
And no matter who gets
elected to what by which margin on November 9th
we will wake up with the
burden of moving forward together as a nation
which – whether we’re all
acting like it or not at the moment –
was conceived in liberty and
dedicated to the proposition
that all people are created
equal.
The burden that has been
placed upon us
is the burden of having seen
what we cannot unsee –
and our response must be to
trust
that the God who promises to
stand by us to sustain us
will sustain us as we move
forward on November 9
to make a way where it looks
like there is no way.
For we have seen the ugliness
and polarization of this election cycle.
We have seen the systemic
racism, sexism and ignorance
that contaminate our nation.
We have seen the political system –
intended to “order society,
as nearly as possible, for the good of all”
fail to live up to that high
calling
descending instead into bickering,
bias and partisan gridlock.
We have seen the constantly
growing list of hashtags
that has become a numbing
litany of the heartbreaking reality
that black lives do NOT
matter as much as white lives in our country.
And we are reminded that the
reason we continue to say BlackLivesMatter
is BECAUSE all lives matter
--
and until we become a nation
where we ACT like all lives matter -- equally --
saying BlackLivesMatter
reminds us to be the change we want to see.
The burden that has been
placed upon us –
the burden of seeing what we
might otherwise have ignored –
is also the opportunity to be
that change we want to see
as we are healed of our
blindness
as surely as Jesus healed the
ten lepers in this morning’s Gospel.
Healed of our blindness to
the polarization, alienation and ignorance
that afflicts our nation we can
be liberated
to be sent back out with antidotes
of love, justice and compassion –
tools to build that kingdom
come on earth as it is in heaven.
Break any tie that binds us
except the tie that binds us to you
Break any tie that binds us
except the tie that binds us
to the God who not only loved
us enough to become one of us
but who is the very source of
the love that is stronger even than death.
As resurrection people we
celebrate the triumph of love over death
not just on Easter Sunday but
every day we draw breath in this realm –
every time we choose love
over fear –
every time we step up and
step out in the name of the Jesus
who is the incarnation of all
that is loving, liberating and life-giving.
In the words of an old
favorite quote:
“The great Easter truth is
not that we will be born again someday
but that we are to be alive
here and now by the power of the resurrection.”
The great Good News of God in
Christ Jesus is not about salvation someday
but about liberation from the
fear of death today – here – now.
And liberated from the fear
of death
we are freed to risk stepping
up and speaking out
in the service of dismantling
all that stands in the way
of our human race becoming
the human family it was created to be –
even when it means breaking
ties of dogma, doctrine and denomination
that have everything to do
with the church-as-scaffolding
and nothing to do with the Kingdom
of God.
I want
to close with a story of a moment from last week
when I had the privilege of actually seeing that kingdom building in action
here in Pasadena.
It happened last Tuesday at an early morning meeting of Pasadena faith leaders
convened in a conference room at Fuller Seminary
in response to the death of JR Thomas –
a conference room that became very holy ground.
It was a glimpse of what can happen when the Spirit sends us and stands with us
– of what the church looks like when it is building the kingdom.
Hear
the words of Pastor Delonte Gholston:
“The
church in Pasadena will not stand on the sidelines in the wake of yet another
hashtag. As the church always has, we will comfort those who mourn. As the
church always has, we will honor the image of God in the hurting and the
marginalized. As the church always has, we will lead our brothers and sisters
who are "not there yet" into a place of deeper knowing and
understanding toward communities that are hurting. We will hold this family, this
community, this city, and this country in the light of Christ. Even in the midst of chaos, anguish and
confusion, we will hold the light of Christ. JR Thomas was a child of God, made
in the image of God and we will hold the light of Christ to stand for justice,
even as we mourn and grieve that his light was snuffed out, even as he and his
family cried out for help. The Spirit of God is hovering over the deep and
saying, "let there be light."
On July 4, 1996 at noon eastern time I was in the choir at the National Cathedral. While crowds of tourists milled about the nave of the cathedral and others gathered outside or headed toward the Mall for the fireworks festivities scheduled later it the day or lined up to see the opening-that-day film “Independence Day” (remember that one?) a remnant of us gathered in the cathedral choir for a festival celebration of the Feast of American Independence, BCP style.
The music was glorious, the lessons inspiring and the privilege of receiving Holy Communion at the altar in this amazing “house of prayer for all people” as we celebrated the birth of a nation dedicated to “liberty and justice for all” was an amazing gift I will always remember.
Oh … and I came out.
In the cathedral. On the Fourth of July. In the middle of festival Eucharist I had the great “aha” moment – the epiphany – the “I-shoulda-had-a-V8” realization that the God who had “fearfully and wonderfully” made me had made me gay. And called me to priesthood. And told me “now, go back and be the priest I called you to be.”
That’s my coming out story. I’ve told it many times before but on this “Coming Out Day” it seemed worth telling again. It seemed worth reminding myself – and anybody else who wants to listen in – that I did not come out from the fringes of anything but from what former Presiding Bishop Frank Griswold famously called "the diverse center."
I came out in the context of a spiritual journey that began with my baptism at St. Paul’s Cathedral in Los Angeles in 1954 (go ahead and do the math!) and continued through Junior Choir, confirmation class, Altar Guilds and Vacation Bible Schools, ECW Boards, teas and luncheons, Diocesan Conventions, vestries and parish day school boards and finally seminary, ordination and parish ministry.
My coming out had nothing to do with a political act. It had nothing to do with a genital act. It had to do with recognizing that I could not be fully present at altar if I was not fully present in myself – and it had to do with being raised in a church where +John Hines taught me that “justice is the corporate face of God’s love,” +Ed Browning told me that in the Episcopal Church there would be no outcasts and the consecration of +Barbara Harris incarnated for me the hope that this church was actually willing to live into its high calling to live out a radically inclusive gospel.
So Happy “Coming Out Day” to me – and to the scores of LGBT Episcopalians like me. Are we a challenge to the wider church? I hope so. And I hope we continue to be. I hope that our voices of faith and witness will continue to preach, to protest and to prophesy – that we will stand in the temple and tell the Good News of God in Christ Jesus made present in our lives, our vocations and our relationships. That we will preach that Good News in and out of season.
And here's to our core American values of liberty and justice for all and to everyone committed to our core Episcopal values of respecting the dignity of every human being. Not because we’re politically correct but because we’re gospel obedient -- and because we're going to do whatever we can to offer a rebuttal to the rabid rhetoric of the religious right who have taken the Good News of God’s inclusive love and distorted it into a weapon of mass discrimination. Of humiliation. Of homophobia.
Because the stakes are too high. Because the damage to precious souls is too costly. And because the truth that there are people of faith who proclaim justice and compassion — not judgment and condemnation — is too important not to step up and speak out. As Harvey Milk said “You must come out ... and once and for all, break down the myths, destroy the lies and distortions.” And for me as a Christian, those lies and distortions include hijacking my faith and turning it into weapon to wound God’s beloved LGBT children.
So Come Out, Come Out wherever you are. Come Out as proud LGBT members of the rainbow tribe. And if you happen to be the Christian variety, then Come Out as a Christian, too. Break down some myths. Destroy some lies and distortions. And if we do it long enough and loud enough and together enough eventually we will be done. And October 11th will roll around and nobody will need to Come Out because there won’t be any closets left.
Got to preach at the bilingual service here at All Saints on Sunday 10/2 ... on Saint Francis as patron saint of environmental justice and icon of faith in action in our broken and beautiful world.
Whenever there is a list of the “most popular” saints you can count on Saint Francis being on it. The prayer that we associate with him, "Lord, make me an instrument of your peace," is arguably one of the most popular prayers ever circulated. His statue appears in gardens around the world – including ours here at All Saints. The patron saint of peace-makers and ecologists he is associated with works of mercy to the poor and marginalized and -- perhaps most famously -- with animal lovers.
Because of his great love of animals Saint Francis not only shows up on bird baths and bird feeders but it has become the custom that on his Feast Day all across the world people gather for “blessing of the animals” services like we had here on the lawn this morning … with an amazing assortment of “all creatures, great and small” from dogs of every shape, size and temperament to cats, rodents and even a few reptiles.
All of this to mark the ministry of Saint Francis – who believed that nature itself was the mirror of God. He called all creatures his “brothers” and “sisters,” even preached to the birds and – legend has it -- persuaded a wolf to stop attacking some locals if they agreed to feed the wolf. In our 21st century blessings of our animal companions and family members we are reminded through the ministry of a 13th century saint that we are connected to all creatures created by God and – as stewards of God’s creation – we have a responsibility to care for and respect all who share with us life on this fragile Earth.
And so – for me – Saint Francis is arguably the perfect patron saint for us to turn to in this time of global climate crisis … to support us in the work we have to do to live out the gospel in the world as advocates for environmental justice and to challenge those who ignore or dismiss climate change as a “myth” or “hoax.”(And as hard as that may be to believe there are some who do … I’ve actually seen them on the evening news!)
That brings me to another famous set of words attributed to Saint Francis – words that may not be as famous as the “make us instruments of your peace” prayer but important words nevertheless.
And those words are: "Preach the Good News at all times -- and if necessary use words.”
If necessary … use words.
Preaching for Francis didn’t just happen from words in a church on Sunday by a preacher in a pulpit. Preaching for Francis happened in the world through the actions of living out God’s values of love, justice and compassion … for the whole human family AND for all creatures, great and small. As a lover of animals, peace and creation Francis was also a man of action. Putting God’s love for the world into action was how he preached the Good News at all times – using words IF necessary.
And in his actions he challenged the church of his day – a church that had settled into valuing power and privilege over the call to follow Jesus out into the world in the service of the poor, the oppressed and the marginalized. His “rule of life” was quite simply "To follow the teachings of our Lord Jesus Christ and to walk in his footsteps” – and as he lived out that rule he inspired others to join him ... giving up money, power and privilege and creating the Franciscan Order to serve the poor, the oppressed and marginalized … an order that continues to live out the Gospel in the world all these centuries later.
Saint Francis was willing to challenge the church to look beyond what it had become – an institution serving those who were already inside its walls and in its pews – and call it to live up to its high calling to actually be the hands and feet of Jesus in the world.
Saint Francis loved Jesus enough to challenge the church of his day -- and we celebrate his ministry when we follow in his footsteps by challenging the church of OUR day just as he did in his. And we do that when we challenge the church to not settle for building the church but continue to the work of building the Kingdom.
And what do I mean by that? Let me tell you a story.
A long time ago when I was a young mother my church had a Wednesday night soup and study series during Lent – and I signed up to go … partly because it was Lent and I wanted to do something to deepen my spiritual life and partly because there was child care and I could talk to adults for a couple of hours once a week.
One Wednesday night we had a visiting priest from South India and his subject was “building the kingdom of God.” And he used this example that I’ve never forgotten.
He asked us to picture a big, tall, beautiful building under construction. And then he asked to picture the scaffolding that surrounded the building while it was under construction … supporting it and framing it as it rose into the sky until it was ready to stand on its own.
He told us to think of the building as the Kingdom of God we’ve been called to build here on earth as it is in heaven … the kingdom we pray about every time we pray the Lord’s Prayer. And then he told us to think of the scaffolding surrounding the building as the church.
And this is the part where he rocked my world. “The point of the church is not the church in the same way the point of the scaffolding is not the scaffolding,” he said. “The point of the church is to build the kingdom. And when the church gets it wrong is when it spends so much time polishing, preserving and fussing with the scaffolding that it forgets to build the building – forgets to build the kingdom.”
It was in that moment in that parish hall on that Wednesday in Lent I realized for the first time WHY it is we need the church – and not just as a place to go once a week to talk to adults! I realized that the church is not an end in itself – but that it is essential to our work of building the kingdom of God. And that was a learning that I took with me – eventually into seminary – and have carried with me through 20 years of ordained ministry.
And through those years I’ve had plenty of opportunities to remember that when the church becomes an end in itself rather than a means to build the kingdom it needs to be reminded of what its purpose is – what its role is – what its mission is.
That’s exactly what Saint Francis did by leaving the safety and security of the institutional church and going out into the world to preach the Gospel … using words if necessary. Taking the church out into the world and meeting people where they were in order to bring the Good News of God’s love, justice and compassion to them … not waiting for them to show up but going out to where they were.
And one of the things I heard in our rector-elect Mike Kinman’s sermon on Homecoming Sunday was the challenge to us to do exactly that … to both continue and to expand our commitment to going out to be the church in the world … beyond these walls … in both word and action … as we take the Good News to a world yearning for hope and healing … and as we work to be the change we want to see in our struggle to be part of the solution rather than contribute to the problem of climate change … as we work to dismantle systemic racism and stand with those who work to make #blacklivesmatter not just a hashtag but a reality in this nation.
The challenges we face are great – but the God who sends us out to love and serve the world in God’s name is greater. So on this Saint Francis Day let us pray to always to be open to the inspiration by the same Spirit who inspired Saint Francis – the saint whose love of all creation sent him out into the world as a beacon of that love, justice and compassion. Let us pray that today that the same beacon will continue to shine through us in our day as it did through him in his.
May God make us all instrument of peace, agents of compassion and followers of Jesus – on this Saint Francis Day and always. Amen.
On what is for me a Sabbath day I am embracing gratitude for health, friends and family; for a new chapter beginning at All Saints; for the gifts of romping dogs and baseball -- especially this weekend the gift of Vin Scully. For music, theater and art that expresses what words alone cannot. And for the pulse of love, justice and compassion beating at the heart of the universe.
And I am acknowledging this morning the toll that the deep ache of grief and sadness which marinates the very fabric of our beautiful and broken world is taking on my soul. The ugliness and polarization of this election cycle pointing a spotlight on systemic racism, sexism and ignorance that contaminate our nation. The constantly growing list of hashtags that has become a numbing litany of the heartbreaking reality that black lives do NOT matter as much as white lives in our country. And the very real fear of the impact the marshaling of forces and resources to preserve the patriarchy and undo the progress of the recent past will have -- not only on all those on the margins but on what's left of the American Dream.
I can't embrace the gratitude without acknowledging the grief -- and at the same time I can't acquiesce to despair because of the gratitude. And so I sit on this Sabbath day in the both/and vortex ... until the dryer buzzes and it's time to fold laundry.
May I have the courage today To live the life that I would love, To postpone my dream no longer But do at last what I came here for And waste my heart on fear no more. Amen
I was reminded earlier this week of this prayer from poet and priest John O’Donohue in a Facebook post. It was nestled amongst multiple heartfelt posts from friends and colleagues marking back-to-school moments -- from five year old Andrew who was off to his first day of Kindergarten in Portland, Oregon to my own thirty-something Jamie who started graduate school at Western Kentucky University.
Because believe it or not … whether we’re ready or not … it is in fact September: the month no matter how old I get will always evoke the urge to wear plaid and buy school supplies.
Where did the summer go?
But back to the prayer. O’Donohue’s words summarized for me in profound concision the blessing, hope and charge I would lift up for every student – and teacher! – opening the door to the new beginning of a new school year -- with all of its opportunities and all of its challenges ahead.
Life is too short to do anything other than live the life you would love.
Claim your dream.
Do what you came here for.
And do not waste a single, precious moment on fear.
And so that morning I scrolled down my Facebook page over my first cup of coffee … I prayed that prayer for each of the earnest faces captured in their “back to school moments” – whether with backpacks or lunch boxes – from Andrew to Jamie and everyone in-between.
And then I thought: why stop there?
Yes, there are iconic moments of new beginnings and fresh starts – like first day of school photos in plaid skirts with new lunchboxes. But each and every day we draw breath on this Earth we face new challenges and new opportunities – and with each of those we are faced with choices on how we will overcome or embrace them.
How we will do what we came here for.
How we will choose life.
And that brings me to this morning’s lesson from Deuteronomy.
Let’s set the context:
Genesis. Exodus. Leviticus. Numbers. Deuteronomy.
Deuteronomy is the fifth and final book of what we call “the Pentateuch” – the first five books of both the Hebrew and Christian Scriptures. The name comes from a Greek word which means a second or repeated law.
In the biblical narrative, it comes at the end of the 40 year retreat the Israelites took in the wilderness on the way to the Promised Land – and it is basically Moses’ refresher course for everything God had done and taught them up until this point … the point where they stood on the cusp of crossing over the river into the Land of Canaan and a whole new life … a journey Moses would not be taking with them but handing over to Joshua.
But Moses’ words to the Israelites in that moment were more than just a review session for anybody who had blown off a class or two over the years -- they was not a mere repetition of the law. But rather they were an application of the law they had already received from God instructing them on how they were to live their lives in their new context in Canaan.
And those instructions included:
Love God with all your heart, soul and mind;
Love your neighbor as yourself; and
You must love the resident foreigner because you were foreigners in the land of Egypt.
[We’ll get back to that one.]
The Book of Deuteronomy is -- at its core -- a reminder to the Hebrew people that God’s core values of love, justice and compassion where what they had been chosen to align their lives with – as a light to the nations and to the glory of God. And that they were called to choose life … not just for themselves but for their neighbors … including the neighbors who were foreigners in their midst.
It is the ancient record of Moses calling the Israelites – our spiritual ancestors -- to “choose life” – to choose to live in accordance with God’s highest purpose – and the speech we hear today is the summary – the Big Finish – the “Come to Jehovah” moment – where he reminds them who they are and who they belong to: the God of all creation.
To use a 21st century analogy:
Deuteronomy is Moses recalculating the spiritual GPS of the Hebrew people
to guide them into the next part of their journey.
To do at last what they came here for. To waste their hearts on fear no more but to choose life –
and to trust that the God who had led them out of slavery in the land of Egypt
would continue to guide them as they moved forward into God’s future.
And that reminds me of a story.
A number of years ago my late wife Louise and I took a trip we called our “Excellent European Adventure” – and part of what made the adventure excellent turned out to be our GPS.
She was very patient. She never panicked. She never raised her voice. She never freaked out when the road signs suddenly changed from Italian to German and then back to Italian. She never said, “How many times do I have to tell you?” She never said, “I cannot believe you missed that turn.” And she certainly never said, “No! No! The other left!”
Instead, no matter how clueless or far afield we got, her patient, persistent refrain was, “Recalculating.”
I think it is fair to say it took us a little while to trust her. The story I’m going to tell right now is about when that moment happened.
It was as we were arriving at our hotel on Lake Como, in Italy – which is absolutely as fabulous as everyone says it is, and you can totally see why George Clooney wants to hang out there. So we were moving along, we were following the GPS, we were wending out way up the side of the lake.
I’m looking at the map, and Louise is looking at the map, and looking at the map and looking at the GPS, and she’s saying, “This can’t be right. We’re going to end up in the middle of the lake. Our hotel is on the other side of the lake. There’s no way this could be right.”
So we’re going along with no small amount of tension in the car, and suddenly our patient, wise, persistent GPS says, “In 500 meters, board the ferry.”
Who knew there was a ferry? Well, the GPS did, and we never doubted her again.
The way the GPS guided Louise and me on our Excellent European Adventure is how I believe the Holy Spirit guides each and every one of us on our Excellent Earthly Adventures. She is patient, she is persistent. No matter how clueless we are or far afield we go, her patient, persistent refrain is, “Recalculating”… continuing calling us back in alignment with God’s values of love, justice and compassion.
And what keeps us in that alignment -- what keeps our spiritual GPS connected to that satellite -- is community. It is where we come – here -- to remember that we are loved and called to walk in love, to be fed and fuelled and then go back out into the world and witness to that love.
“Do this in remembrance of me” – we will say in just a few minutes, when we gather around this table to share the bread and wine made holy.
“In remembrance of,” to remember – to reverse our amnesia – that we are loved by God and – in response to that love – are called to plug in our spiritual GPS into those core values of love, justice and compassion as we journey forward.
And just as Moses seized the moment as the Israelites hovered on the cusp of new beginnings in the Land of Canaan to remind, refresh and recalculate their journey we have the opportunity this morning to do the same thing with ours.
For after the longest election cycle in the history of voting we as a nation hover on the cusp of new beginnings as we prepare to elect not only a new President but new legislative leaders and … here in California … to consider a boatload of ballot initiatives. And in each and every one of those transactions we will have the opportunity to choose life … not just for ourselves but for our neighbors – including the neighbors who are foreigners in our midst.
Tomorrow is Labor Day … and the prayer appointed for us in our Book of Common Prayer goes like this
Almighty God, you have so linked our lives one with another that all we do affects, for good or ill, all other lives: So guide us in the work we do, that we may do it not for self alone, but for the common good …
The work we are called to do … the work we celebrate on Labor Day and do the other 364 days of the year … is never for ourselves alone but for the common good. And that for me is a core value – a key litmus test – to carry forward as we choose life … not only into the decisions we will make in the upcoming elections but in the choices we make each and every day we draw breath on this Earth.
Choosing life is how we center ourselves to do what we came here for – to turn the human race into the human family. And it is how we resist the fear that would waste our hearts and become instead the change we want to see. For in the words of our rector-elect Mike Kinman: “In the face of fear, resistance is hope.”
Resistance to racism – in all its manifestations – is hope that we not only can but will heal the systemic poison of marginalization and oppression that infects our nation … making liberty and justice for all an aspiration we yearn for rather than a reality we live.
Resistance to sexism is the hope that we will quit reinforcing gender stereotypes in our young people represented in these magazine covers: Encouraging girls to aspire to “Wake Up Pretty” vs.encouraging boys to “Explore Your Future.”
We can and must do better than that.
Resistance to hijacking the core values of our Christian faith is the hope that our witness – in word and deed – to God’s love, justice and compassion can overcome those preaching the poison of polarization, judgment and condemnation.
Resistance to exploitation of the planet is hope that we can work together as a human race to undo the damage we have done to “this fragile Earth, our island home” and be part of the solution rather than continue to contribute to the problem of climate change.
Resistance to scapegoating immigrants is the hope that we will refuse to align our public policy with the fear and ignorance of nativism and xenophobia but instead listen to the ancient words of Leviticus 19:34
(Which for some strange reason is NOT the verse from Leviticus that ends up on the picket signs or in the emails from folks who want to tell me what the Bible says.)
But the stranger that dwelleth with you shall be unto you as one born among you, and thou shalt love him as thyself; for ye were strangers in the land of Egypt.
In the face of fear, resistance is hope.
So let us today choose to resist. Let us choose hope. Let us choose to recalculate our spiritual GPS’s to guide us – unafraid – into God’s future. Let us choose life.
May we have the courage today To live the lives that we would love, To postpone our dreams no longer But do at last what we came here for And waste our hearts on fear no more. Amen
No, that's not a typo. That is a direct quote from this sign spied on the campaign trail and now making the rounds on Twitter.
"Beware The Beast: Hildbeast Clinton And Its Vagenda Of Manocide."
Seriously. I couldn't make it up. It's evidently the brainchild (and yes -- I use the term loosely) of a dude who's kinda famous in his parts for outrageous stuff like this -- at least according to TheDailyDot.com.
It is hard to even wrap your brain around -- much less image a response to -- such overt misogynistic absurdity. Which is precisely why you need to get ready for the best part.
Guess what happens if you go to VagendaOfManocide.com? Seriously. It's an actual URL. Check it out.
That's right. It's a Donate to Hillary Clinton for America page.
Someone on the HRC staff was smart, savvy and with it enough to snatch up the URL and do the Genesis 50:20 thing -- turning what was intended for harm as a means to accomplish good.
I don't know about you but that kind of creativity and agency gives me hope that when we make it through these last days of the longest election cycle in the history of voting we're going to have smart, savvy, with it people in charge -- people who are committed to moving us forward into a future where we really are #StrongerTogether rather than #PolarizedToPieces.
In the meantime, I'm hearing rumors that the next hot Feminist Thrash Metal Band is going to be calling itself The Vagenda of Manocide. You just might have heard it here first.
This is my last week of vacation -- I go back to work next Monday after a lovely long time off with travel, family time and lots of R&R at home. Yesterday I got bit by the writing bug and decided to use some of my leisure time to dust off a piece I've posted before ... Top Ten Questions about Jesus, The Bible and LGBT People ... and update it for the current election cycle.
I posted it over on the Huffington Post -- you can read it here -- and then got back to the "To Do On Vacation" list. Now, the piece is hardly "going viral" ... but I knew it must be garnering some readership when I started getting hate mail ... from both rabid anti-LGBT Christians who accuse me of leading people to the Lake of Fire and from rabid atheists who are sure they'll change my mind if they point out that the Bible has inconsistencies.
Then there was this. I just went to check my email between loads of laundry (Item #7 on Today's Gay Agenda) and found these two emails quite literally back to back in my inbox.
Aloha Rev. Susan:
I just read your post on the Huffington Post site about the "10 questions...."
Your answers and understanding are so clear and easily understood that I would like to share them with my members/friends/allies in our weekly newsletter.
I am currently pastor of Open Arms Metropolitan Community Church on the Big Island of Hawaii. We are a small community with a big heart. While I recognize that most of those who will read the newsletter already have some of the information you so clearly state, it is such a blessing to have it all laid out in such a logical and useful form. Prayers that you will be able to continue shining your light of compassion and understanding.
Love and blessings,
Rev. Dr. William H. Knight
And:
To Susan Russell,
Where do I start? You so casually dismiss plain biblical teachings to validate your sinful life. 2 Peter 2 talks about the depravity of false teachers, speaking of evil things that they don't even understand. Those who have a heart trained in covetousness, and are accursed children, carousing in their own deceptions, those who have forsaken the right way. These Peter says are wells without water. You Susan if you don't repent will perish in your own corruption. You stated that Jesus never said anything about the homosexual. Well He did in fact do so in Matt 19:5f when He said, "have you not read, He who made them in the beginning made them male and female and for this reason a man should leave his father and mother and cleave to his wife, together being one flesh." This is the sexual relationship that Jesus taught. But lets remember, or don't you believe that all of the writers of the Bible were inspired of God, they didn't write what they wanted to, they were directed by God Himself. Does 1 Corinthians 6 mean nothing? You are twisting scripture to your own destruction. Teaching the doctrines of demons. It's clear, the unrighteous will not inherit the kingdom of God. Unless they repent and are washed. The saddest part of this is, how many souls will be lost because of what you teach?
May God grant you the time to repent.
Jeff Richardson
Aurora, MO.
As my friend and mentor Liz used to say all the time, "You win some and you lose some ... but you always dress out!"
And anybody who is tempted to think for a nanosecond that the work of dismantling the homophobia that infects the church and afflicts the world is even close to over just drop me a text, tweet or email and I'll be happy to give you a little reality check on why we keep dressing out. Seriously.
Yesterday got away from me without marking it here as the 14th anniversary of my very first day at work at All Saints Church in Pasadena and the official launch of Claiming the Blessing: the intentional collaborative of organizations and individuals within the Episcopal Church advocating for the full inclusion of all the baptized in all sacraments of the church.
My, my. my how time flies when you're having fun.
On August 2, 2002 we set up shop in the "corner cubicle" in the "temporary trailer" in the North Driveway on the All Saints campus and we got to work on our agenda.
Yes, the truth can now be told -- the rumors were absolutely true. We TOTALLY had "an agenda" -- and it was:
"Promoting wholeness in human relationships, abolishing prejudice and oppression, and healing the rift between sexuality and spirituality in the Church."
Since 2002, our advocacy has included liturgies for the blessing of same-sex relationships, equal access to all orders of ministry by qualified gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender candidates and supporting civil and sacramental marriage equality.
In 2015 we saw extraordinary progress toward the goal of ending marriage discrimination in the Episcopal Church when the 78th General Convention — meeting in Salt Lake City — adopted resolutions that amended our canons on marriage and approved liturgies for equal use by same and opposite sex couples.
While there is inarguably still work to do to eradicate homophobia and discrimination against LGBTQ people in the church and in the world, it has been a deep privilege to be part of doing our part through the work of Claiming the Blessing and in partnership with heroes and sheroes of the movement too many to mention.
La lucha continua -- but for moment, let's mark this 14h anniversary with gratitude for the progress so far. (Visit our website for the CTB story.)
Last night -- July 28 -- we watched history being made. Hillary Clinton's acceptance of the nomination of the Democratic Party for President of the United States broke through the glass ceiling she put 18 million cracks in back in 2008 and was a sign of hope and encouragement for anyone who believes love, justice and compassion trumps hatred, division and exceptionalism.
Donald Trump was born on third base but thinks he hit a triple. Tonight, Hillary Clinton hit a triple.
Triples are harder to hit than home runs. They require power AND base-running ability. When you hit a homer, you can jog around the bases. To hit a triple, you have to run full-speed from home plate to third base. You have to know your own strengths and those of your opponent - do I have the speed to make it third, does the outfielder have the arm strength to throw me out? Triples take grit and determination. They don't always excite the crowd like home runs. But they help your team win the game.
The "game" we're determined to win is nothing less than making liberty and justice for all not just a pledge we make but a reality we live in this nation. And last night we took a huge step forward toward achieving that elusive goal -- toward winning that game.
And now this morning -- July 29 -- as we continue to celebrate the history our nation just made in Philadelphia, I am reminded that we celebrate the anniversary of history made in our church: the ordination of eleven women in Philadelphia that shattered a stained glass ceiling and changed the church forever and for the better.
No, it didn't fix everything wrong with the church and of course it didn't end sexism once and for all. (And just for the record: no one smart enough to make that stained glass ceiling crack was naive enough to think we were "done.")
Forty-two years later we're still at it ... but today is one of the days we pause to celebrate the incremental victories along the way to the audacious goal not yet realized -- the goal of the end of gender bias and sexism and healing of the sin of misogyny not only in our church but in our world.
We are on this journey together. And as I wrote yesterday in my "Letter to My Sons" just before Hillary broke that glass ceiling in Philadelphia:
The glass ceiling that shatters today is about all of us - including you. It is about the opportunity you have to use your platform of privilege as straight, white, men to use the power that privilege gives you as an antidote to the rabid, sexist rhetoric that contaminates our public discourse in general and this presidential election campaign in specific.
It is about owning the words of Emma Lazarus — “Until we are all free, we are none of us free” - and recognizing that the shattering of this glass ceiling is another step toward freeing both women and men to become all they were created to be; another part of the journey toward making liberty and justice for all not just a pledge we make but a reality we live.
A crack at a time. A ceiling at a time. An inch at a time. La lucha continua.
