The Love That Won't Let Us Go

It was the Second Sunday of Christmas and the first Sunday after the passing of the inimitable Archbishop Desmond Tutu. The Omicron surge had driven us back to live-stream-only worship at All Saints Church in Pasadena ... and we added this excerpt from one of Archbishop Tutu's sermons to the lessons read at our 9:00 & 11:30 services.

And I got to preach.

It was quite a way to kick off 2022.

A Reading from Archbishop Desmond Tutu

You are family. You are the human family, God’s family.

You and I, knowing ourselves to be the sinners that we are,

are given the incredible privilege of addressing God –

the all holy God, the omnipotent God,

the God who dwells in light unapproachable,

from whom the angels and archangels veil their sight,

as they worship and adore God ceaselessly,

crying “Holy, holy, holy, Lord God of hosts –

and you and I are able to say to this one, “Abba, abba.”

We are meant to have the intimacy of a little child.

This family has no outsiders.

Everyone is an insider.

When Jesus said,

“I, if I am lifted up, will draw . . .”

Did he say, “I will draw some”?

Did he say, “I will draw some, and tough luck for the others”?

He said, “I, if I be lifted up, will draw all.”

All! All! All! –

Black, white, yellow; rich, poor;

clever, not so clever; beautiful, not so beautiful.

All! All! It is radical. All!

All are to be held in this incredible embrace.

Gay, lesbian, so-called “straight;” all! All!

All are to be held in the incredible embrace of the love that won’t let us go.

January 2, 2022 “The Love That Won’t Let Us Go”

This family has no outsiders.
Everyone is an insider.
All are to be held in the incredible embrace
of the love that won’t let us go. Amen.

We gather this first Sunday of the New Year here at All Saints Church in Pasadena in the shadow of the loss of a global giant of love, justice and compassion as we continue to mourn the death of Archbishop Desmond Tutu.

Ninety years old and in frail health, the fact that his passing to the other realm was not unexpected does not lessen its impact -- for it feels almost impossible to imagine a world without the north star of his courage, wisdom and impish humor shining in our world.

Nevertheless, we persist. We grieve his loss and we celebrate his life ... and we remember his indomitable spirit and faithfulness to the good news of the one who loved us enough to become one of us in order to show us how to love one another. For if Archbishop Tutu's life was about any one thing it was about the power of that love to transform absolutely anything and anyone.

In 1994 Archbishop Tutu spoke to our Episcopal Church's General Convention in Indianapolis. We gathered in a cavernous convention hall with probably 3000 people -- and from the back-bench bleachers where my seminarian self was sitting he was a tiny speck of a man who filled up the whole room. I remember leaving the hall feeling like I was the luckiest person on earth to have actually been in the same room with such holy wisdom and courageous energy.

Over the years I was blessed several other opportunities to be in the presence of "the Arch."

In 2005 he returned to All Saints Church for a visit. We were at that point in the midst of the worst of the Anglican Inclusion Wars with the Episcopal Church on the verge of being voted off the Anglican Island for allowing the election and consecration of Gene Robinson as the Bishop of New Hampshire.

It was in that context of controversy, challenge and division that Archbishop Tutu preached the sermon from which this morning's reading was excerpted ... a sermon that was quintessential Tutu with its message of love, inclusion and challenge -- challenge for us to become the change we want to see in the world.

The moment that remains etched in my memory forever was when he stretched his arms out wide in this very pulpit and proclaimed:

It is radical.
All are to be held in this incredible embrace.
Gay, lesbian, so-called “straight” ...

It really was radical. So radical it elicited a literal gasp that rippled through the filled-to-the-rafters church ... a moment I described to a reporter earlier this week as "a gasp of amazement and relief and delight. For when you’re struggling on the margins, and the powers seem to be galvanizing against you, and you realize you have Desmond Tutu on your side, suddenly almost anything seems possible."

Much has changed in the years since that 2005 visit. There are now five gay or lesbian bishops in the Episcopal Church, the threats to vote us off the Anglican Island have died down and as we head to our upcoming General Convention marriage equality is part of our national church canons and there is an official LGBTQ Caucus -- things we couldn't even have imagined 16 years ago when the Arch stood in this pulpit and preached that sermon.

But much has sadly stayed the same. Division and polarization are -- if anything -- more entrenched than ever. Today as we once again gather virtually rather than in person in response to the Omicron surge, we cannot ignore that we also gather in the shadow of a pandemic that still holds us and those we love in a kind of ongoing limbo of vulnerability – and that too many beloved members of our families and communities are now absent from us.

We cannot hide from the fact that our nation is increasingly polarized, our democracy is inarguably under threat, that liberty and justice for all remains a pledge we make rather than a reality we live.

There are still miles to go before we rest in the work of dismantling the systemic marginalization of LGBTQ people in our church, our nation and our world.

And we cannot deny that over it all looms the existential challenge of the climate crisis that threatens this fragile Earth, our island home.

Nevertheless, we persist.

And this morning -- on this Second Sunday of Christmas on the Second day of the year of our Lord Two Thousand Twenty-two as we look ahead to year that promises to be full of both challenge and change, I can think of no better way to frame the work ahead of us than with these timeless words from Howard Thurman:

When the song of the angels is stilled,
when the star in the sky is gone,
when the kings and princes are home,
when the shepherds are back with their flocks,
the work of Christmas begins:
to find the lost,
to heal the broken,
to feed the hungry,
to release the prisoner,
to rebuild the nations,
to bring peace among the people,
to make music in the heart.

The work of Christmas is the work to which we are called 24/7 as we live out our call to be beacons of God's love, justice and compassion in our beautiful and broken world -- and in the year ahead we will have our hands full finding, healing, feeding, releasing, rebuilding, bringing and making ... reclaiming the planet an inch at a time until we truly become the kingdom come on Earth we pray for every time we gather.

Until the human race becomes the human family Desmond Tutu called us to be ... A family that has no outsiders ... where everyone is an insider ... and all are held in the incredible embrace of the love that won’t let us go.

And I am convinced on this Second Sunday of Christmas on the Second day of 2022 that how we do that work is as important as that we do that work.

Of all the memes I scrolled past on Instagram in the last few days while procrastinating whatever it was I procrastinating by scrolling through memes on Instagram the one that stuck with me was this:

The most important lesson I've learned over this past year is don't let anyone make you cruel. No matter how badly you want to give the world a taste of its own bitter medicine, it's never worth losing yourself

We face the two-fold challenge of resisting evil while not becoming the evil we deplore.

· Challenging those who perpetuate systemic injustice and oppression without dehumanizing them;
· Resisting those who feed, water and fertilize the polarization that plagues us without retreating to our own bubbles and silos;
· Rebutting those who ignore the very science that could help us end this pandemic and reverse the clock on the ticking time bomb of Climate Change while remembering that are all part of the same Big, Fat, Human Family.

In the words of one of the Tutu quotes making this rounds this week:
"If you want peace, you don't talk to your friends; you talk to your enemies."

It's a tall order ... but we stand on tall shoulders as we continue to learn from the work and witness of those who have gone before us in the struggle.

Sunday after Sunday we gather to hear their stories -- the ones preserved for us in our scriptural family album and the ones we tell and retell in sermons and forums and in conversations on the lawn.

And here's another one ... from the sermon preached yesterday at Archbishop Tutu's funeral in Cape Town by Bishop Michael Nuttall -- a sermon framed on the great call in Micah 6:8 to "do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly." Bishop Nutall said:

Love kindness. This was our ‘Arch’ at his very best. His was not a harsh, ideological quest for justice. Always it was grounded in mercy, in ‘hesed’ (to use the Hebrew word), in an enduring loving-kindness: the gentle touch, the forgiving heart, the warm smile – ah yes, the warm smile. Remember his fine book on the Truth and Reconciliation Commission ... was titled “No Future without Forgiveness”. How could someone who had suffered so much hostility and disdain in his own country settle for such a conviction, such magnanimity? It was because all that he stood for and strove for was undergirded by a spirit of mercy towards everyone.

Absolutely. Everyone.

It is radical. All are to be held in the incredible embrace of the love that won’t let us go.

That is the love Desmond Tutu preached about -- the love he not only proclaimed but embodied -- the fierce, powerful, both/and love of faith in action ... love the late bell hooks taught us "is an act of will – namely, both an intention and an action" -- the radical love that not only can but will

find the lost,
heal the broken,
feed the hungry,
release the prisoner,
rebuild the nations,
bring peace among the people,
make music in the heart.

Because no matter what powers seem to be galvanizing against that love, when and we remember we have both God and Desmond Tutu on our side ... suddenly absolutely anything seems possible.

Happy New Year. Amen.

Remembering Archbishop Tutu

We lost a global giant of love, justice and compassion with the death today of Archbishop Desmond Tutu. Ninety years old and in frail health, the fact that his passing to the other realm was not unexpected does not lessen its impact -- for it feels almost impossible to imagine a world without the north star of his courage, wisdom and impish humor shining in our world.

Nevertheless, we persist. We grieve his loss and we celebrate his life ... and we remember his indomitable spirit and faithfulness to the good news of the one who loved us enough to become one of us in order to show us how to love one another. For if Archbishop Tutu's life was about any one thing it was about the power of that love to transform absolutely anything and anyone. 

In 1994 Archbishop Tutu spoke to our General Convention in Indianapolis. We gathered in a cavernous convention hall with probably 3000 people -- and from the back-bench bleachers where my seminarian self was sitting he was a tiny speck of a man who filled up the whole room. I remember leaving the hall feeling like I was the luckiest person on earth to have actually been in the same room with such holy wisdom and courageous energy.

Over the years I had several other opportunities to be in the presence of "the Arch." 

In 2005 -- in the midst of the Anglican Inclusion Wars -- he visited All Saints Church in Pasadena and preached a sermon where he famously said:

"Jesus did not say,
'I, if I be lifted up,
will draw some.'
Jesus said, 'I, if I be lifted up,
will draw all.'
All! All! All! All!
Black, white, yellow,
rich, poor,
clever, not so clever,
beautiful, not so beautiful.
It's one of the most radical things!
All, all, all belong.
Gay, lesbian, so-called straight.
All! All are meant to be held 

in this incredible embrace 

that will not let us go."

In 2011, Archbishop Tutu returned to All Saints. Taking my hand on the lawn before the service, he told me "All Saints Church stood with us in the fight against apartheid and we will stand with you in the fight against homophobia." 

It's a moment I'll never forget -- and a moment I'm so deeply grateful to Cyrus Davis for capturing in this picture.

"All are meant to be held in this incredible embrace that will not let us go." Rest in peace in that incredible embrace, Archbishop Tutu. As our Rector Emeritus George Regas would say: Oh, lucky heaven!

The Advent Waiting Game

This month I had the privilege of writing an Advent reflection for our diocesan clergy newsletter ... and having no idea where to start I wrote what I needed to hear: "The Advent Waiting Game" ... with thanks to Diana Bass & Liz Habecker for inspiration: 

With the lighting of yet another candle on yet another Advent wreath a new church year is launched, and we enter once more the season of waiting as we prepare to claim again the Christmas Truth greater than any of the traditions it inspires: the mystical longing of the creature for the creator – the finite for the infinite – the human for the divine. 

It is a longing that transcends culture, religion, language and custom – a longing that is represented for us as Christians in the baby in the manger – the sudden, amazing, and incomprehensible gift of grace: a God who loved us enough to become one of us. Yes, we manifest the wonder of Christmas in the gifts given, the meals shared, the gathering of family and loved ones. 

But the greater wonder is that the God who is love incarnate came down at Christmas to be among us as one of us: to show us how to share that love with a world in desperate need of it – to a world yearning for the “peace on earth, good will among all people” the angels proclaimed. 

And so we wait. And as we wait, I’m remembering many, many Advents ago our colleague Liz Habecker describing how “waiting” during Advent is different than any of the other kinds of “waiting” we do — waiting for a bus, for example. Waiting for a bus is both boring and anxiety-producing. Will it be on time? Will I make my connection? Am I even waiting at the right bus stop? What if I looked at the schedule wrong? Where is that bus, anyway? That’s waiting in anxiety. 

Advent waiting is more like being in the concert hall or theater, waiting for the curtain to rise. We know something wonderful is about to happen and everyone else is waiting with the same expectation. We know what we’re waiting for — we’ve bought the tickets and looked over the program — but the experience is yet to happen: and so we wait — expectantly. We wait in the tension of both knowing and NOT knowing — open to the experience about to unfold that is somehow different every time. We wait in anticipation rather than anxiety. 

And so another Advent begins. 

We light that first candle, and we wait. We wait in both trust and tension as we pray the familiar prayers, read the familiar lessons, and sing the familiar hymns. And yet for all the comfort of the familiarity of those beloved prayers, hymns, and lessons there can be no escaping the reality that this year … this moment that Canon Melissa described in her recent Angelus article as the “current normal” … is different. 

We cannot ignore that we wait in the shadow of a pandemic that may be loosening its grip but still holds us and those we love in a kind of ongoing limbo of vulnerability. We cannot hide from the fact that our nation is increasingly polarized, our democracy is inarguably under threat, that liberty and justice for all remains a pledge we make rather than a reality we live -- and that over it all looms the existential challenge of the climate crisis that threatens this fragile Earth, our island home. 

And so this Advent I take great comfort in these words from our friend, author Diana Butler Bass, who writes: 

Advent recognizes a profound spiritual truth: 

that we need not fear the dark. 

Instead, wait there. 

Under that blue cope of heaven, 

alert for the signs of dawn. 

Watch. 

For you cannot rush the night. 

But you can light some candles. 

Sing some songs. 

Recite poetry. 

Say prayers.

We cannot rush the night. But we can light some candles – and this year we can light those candles in person, rather than on Zoom. We can sing some songs – and this year we may have to sing them into our masks, but at least we get to sing them together. And we can recite poetry and say our prayers – sharing and offering words of inspiration and aspiration as we wait expectantly for the coming of the one who loved us enough to become one of us in order to show us how to love one another. 

And so my prayer for all of us in this time of holy waiting is that we will be given the grace to wait in expectation rather than anxiety – and that our work and our worship will be outward and visible signs of hope, peace, joy, and love to our beautiful and broken world … the Advent and always. 

Again With the Prayerfully Pro-Choice Post

 

The arguments before the Supreme Court are over and the deliberations have begun re: Dobbs v. Jackson’s Women’s Health – the latest battle in the war to overturn Roe v. Wade and eviscerate access to safe and legal abortion for people seeking reproductive health care.

And this time they are likely to win. 

It is a moment that does not come as a surprise as we have watched the orchestrated efforts of those who would return seek to control the bodies of others work out their long-game strategy over not just years but decades – including literally stealing a Supreme Court seat in order to pack the Court with opponents of reproductive freedom. 

Over the years we have suited up and stood up and spoken up and marched, lobbied and agitated more times than I can count to preserve what has been a constitutionally protected right since 1973 – my freshman year in college. I was honored to serve a four-year term as a member of the National Planned Parent Clergy Advocacy Board and continue to support that important work whenever and wherever I can. 

That support includes engaging with folks who are unable to reconcile my position as a pro-choice advocate with my vocation as a priest and pastor. One commenter summed it up tersely: "What kind of religion do you represent, lady?" 

The answer is that I represent one which gives me room to be both proudly and prayerfully pro-choice.

In 1988 the Episcopal Church went on record with a powerful statement affirming its commitment to both the sanctity of life and a woman's right to reproductive freedom. 

And then, in 1994, as the anti-abortion movement mobilized to restrict reproductive freedom of American women, we added this "further resolve": 

"The Episcopal Church express its unequivocal opposition to any legislative, executive or judicial action on the part of local, state or national governments that abridges the right of a woman to reach an informed decision about the termination of pregnancy or that would limit the access of a woman to safe means of acting on her decision."

That's the "religion I represent" -- one that acknowledges there is tension between the sacredness of life we affirm and the freedom of choice we support. And the parish I represent -- All Saints Church in Pasadena -- is one that has been officially "prayerfully pro-choice" since 1989.

And here we are again. La lucha continua … the struggle continues. As I posted on Twitter this morning:

"If what is happening in the Supreme Court this morning does not mobilize every single person committed to reproductive freedom to get to the polls for the 2022 Midterms then The Handmaid’s Tale becomes prophesy rather than fiction and we become Gilead. And we are not going to let that happen."

So buckle up. Say your prayers. Dig out the protest signs and pussy hats. Figure out who’s running for what and how to support them. Give to Planned Parenthood. Make some noise.

They may win this battle – but they will not win the war. Not on our watch.

[photo: All Saints contingent -- including our late Rector Emeritus George Regas -- at a 2019 "Stop the Bans" rally at Pasadena City Hall]

A Sermon for Thanksgiving Eve 2021

A Sermon for Thanksgiving Eve 2021 at All Saints Church, Pasadena … with thanks to Diana Bass, Michael Curry, Sharon Brous and Joy Harjo.

The familiar trappings of Thanksgiving are all around us. Here at All Saints this evening we gather in this familiar sacred space, sing the familiar hymns, and pray the familiar prayers. In the days leading up to this evening, we have been culturally bombarded by the familiar signs of the season -- including the ubiquitous "pumpkin spicing" of almost everything. And -- here in Pasadena -- the most familiar sign of them all: the rising of the Rose Parade bleachers along Orange Grove Boulevard.

And for all the comfort of the familiarity there can be no escaping the reality that this year is not “Thanksgiving as usual.”

We cannot ignore that we also gather in the shadow of a pandemic that may be loosening its grip but still holds us and those we love in a kind of ongoing limbo of vulnerability – and that too many beloved members of our families and communities are now absent from us.

We cannot hide from the fact that our nation is increasingly polarized, our democracy is inarguably under threat, that liberty and justice for all remains a pledge we make rather than a reality we live.

And we cannot deny that over it all looms the existential challenge of the climate crisis that threatens this fragile Earth, our island home.

Nevertheless, we persist. Nevertheless, we choose to give thanks. And one of the things I give thanks for are these words from Diana Butler Bass:

“God, there are days we do not feel grateful. 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, we struggle to feel grateful.

But this Thanksgiving, we choose gratitude. We choose to accept life as a gift from you, from the unfolding work of all creation. We choose to be grateful for the earth from which our food comes; for the water that gives life; and for the air we all breathe.

We make the choice to see our ancestors, those who came before us, and their stories, as a continuing gift of wisdom for us today. We choose to see our families and friends with new eyes, appreciating them for who they are, and be thankful for our homes whether humble or grand. We choose to see the whole planet as our shared commons, the public stage of the future of our race and creation.”

So I'm not a morning television person.
I'm a let's have it quiet around here until I've had a second cup of coffee person.

But today I got a heads up from my east coast friends on Facebook that two of my favorite people on the planet – Presiding Bishop Michael Curry and Rabbi Sharon Brous – were going to be on the Today Show … so I turned it on. (And if you missed it, check out All Saints Facebook Group … I posted a link to the segment clip.)

What stood out to me in the 6 minutes of wisdom from these two great spiritual leaders was how grounded they both were in their respective faith traditions -- and how in alignment they both were in their message of putting that faith in to action.

Rabbi Brous called listeners to recognize the vulnerability of this moment of shared recognition of the fragility and preciousness of life and to hold that vulnerability as a call to live differently in the world. “Our work” she said, “is to mitigate against the darkness by bringing light.”

And Bishop Curry noted that Thanksgiving is made up of two words: that thanks is an attitude and giving is an action. And the call he made was to do both in such a way that “we deal with the problems of our past in order to solve the problems of our present in order to create a better future for every member of the human family.”

So on this Thanksgiving Eve we not only give thanks: we choose to put into action the powerful words of Poet Laureate Joy Harjo* in this evening’s reading:

“All acts of kindness are lights in the war for justice.”

The war for justice is a battle over those would polarize us by fear and division -- and the weapons we are called to use are weapons of mass reconciliation: truth and justice; peace and love.

All acts of kindness are lights in the war for justice … and as that war continues to rage around us, we pause along the way to mark the incremental victories in order to keep us moving forward in the journey … this evening remembering especially:

• Justice for the family of Ahmaud Arbery … even as we work to dismantle the systemic white supremacy that led to his tragic death; and
• Gratitude for the exoneration of Kevin Strickland … even as we challenge the justice system that held him for 43 years for crime he didn’t commit.

In the face of the daunting challenges
of pandemics and polarization,
injustice and inequality
we choose to remember that
we belong to the God who created us in God’s image
because God wanted relatives –
that the God who spun the sun and moon and stars
and is mother, father, brother, sister and sibling to us all
gives us what we need to keep us from giving up
in this land of nightmares which is also the land of miracles –
calls us to gather up the strands broken from the web of life
and make them into something holy.
Something whole. Something beautiful.

When I first read those words of Joy Harjo I was immediately reminded of what we do when we gather at this table to receive the bread made holy … of the words of the old hymn:

“As grain, once scattered on the hillsides,
was in this broken bread made one,
so from all lands thy people gathered
into thy kindom by thy love.”

And so as we prepare to gather at the table which is the center of our life in Christ, may we also prepare for action we go out from that table into the world as beacons of God’s love, justice, and compassion

On this Thanksgiving Eve may we be given grace live out both the attitude and the action of Thanks Giving -- to be the change we want to see in the world as we continue to choose both gratitude and love; as we act as lights in the war for justice.

Let us close with this prayer from Diana Butler Bass:

“God, this Thanksgiving, we do not give thanks. We choose it. And we will make thanks, with strong hands and courageous hearts. When we see your sacred generosity, we become aware that we live in an infinite circle of gratitude.

We will not let anything opposed to love take over this table. Instead, we choose to see grace, free and unmerited love, the giftedness of life everywhere, as the tender web of all creation. In this choosing, and in the making, we will pass gratitude onto the world.

Thus, with you, and with all those gathered here, we pledge to make thanks. And we ask you to strengthen us in this resolve. Here, now, and into the future. Around this table. Around the table of our nation. Around the table of the earth. Amen.”

======

*Reconciliation - A Prayer by Joy Harjo
http://www.hanksville.org/storytellers/joy/poems/reconciliation.html

Thanksgiving Prayer 2016 - Diana Butler Bass
https://day1.org/articles/5d9b820ef71918cdf2004001/diana_butler_bass_a_thanksgiving_prayer_for_2016_choose_gratitude

Acting as an Antidote to the Virus of Homo/Transphobia

The nature of a virus is to produce variants in order to survive. According to the CDC: "The best way to slow the emergence of new variants is to reduce the spread of infection." This wisdom applies not only the COVID-19 virus that continues to prey upon our global human family in general, but to the virus of homo/transphobia that continues to prey on our LGBTQ+ siblings in specific.

And today heavy on my heart is the news of a particularly virulent variant of that virus rearing its ugly head in the nation of Ghana.

If you missed the memo, CNN does a good job of summarizing the situation in this October 8, 2021 feature exploring the connections between the U.S. far-right influence on the draconian anti-LGBTQ legislation pending in Ghana.

[Gay activists] denounced the claim that homosexuality is a Western import or that LGBTQ activists were out to recruit and convert straight Ghanaians. "The same people they claim to have brought homosexuality to Africa are the same people who told them to have this hate they are using against us. There have always been queer Ghanaians. The anti-LGBTQ "family values" coalition have long been a loud presence in Ghana, but it was never organized or particularly strategic. That changed when a US group promoting those same "family values" organized a conference in Accra in late 2019 -- just before the Covid-19 pandemic hit. The U.S. right-wing people were here and after that there was a rush to push legislation." 

Once again we see that toxic religion mixed with right-wing politics create the perfect Petri dish to incubate new and ever more virulent variants of the virus of homo/transphobia that puts the lives of LGBTQ+ people at risk. Toxic religion is arguably the Patient Zero for the spread of this particular virus variant -- a variant that has evidently spread to the Anglican Church in Ghana.

In an October 20th feature in The Living Church Kirk Peterson reported that Anglican Bishops in Ghana have endorsed the legislation. From the TLC feature:

“The support of the church for the Anti-LGBTQI Bill is borne out of the belief that the practice is unbiblical and ungodly. We see LGBTQI as unrighteousness in the sight of God and therefore will do anything within our powers and mandate to ensure that the bill comes into fruition. Leviticus 20:13 clearly declares that, a male lying with a fellow male is an abomination and punishable by death."

These reports have sparked a call for Anglican leaders in general -- and the Episcopal Church in specific -- to stand up and speak out for God's LGBTQ+ beloved who find themselves in harm's way as the virus spreads. 

So what are we to do? If "the best way to slow the emergence of new variants is to reduce the spread of infection," how can we be agents of change in reducing the spread of infection of the toxic religion that feeds, waters and fertilizes the demonization and scapegoating of LTBTQ+ people in the service of political agendas committed to division and polarization? 

We start by standing up and speaking out as people of faith -- refusing to allow the Good News of the Gospel be hijacked as a weapon of mass discrimination against LGBTQ+ people. We start by continuing to offer a rebuttal to the rabid rhetoric of the religious right.  

And this morning -- at the opening session of our Episcopal Church's Executive Council -- President of the House of Deputies (PHOD) Gay Clark Jennings did exactly that. Hear these words from her Opening Remarks;

According to news reports, the House of Bishops of the Anglican Church in Ghana has endorsed a draconian anti-LGBTQ law now awaiting a vote in the Ghanaian parliament. This is upsetting and particularly regrettable in light of the 2005 commitment of the primates of the Anglican Communion to stand against the “victimisation or diminishment” of LGBTQI people.

For our part, in 2015, General Convention passed Resolution A051, which commits us to stand with our LGBTQI Anglican siblings in Africa, and that our churchwide offices, including the Office of the Presiding Bishop, “be directed to work in partnership with African Anglicans who publicly oppose laws that criminalize homosexuality and incite violence against Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, and Intersex people.”

I expect that it has not yet been possible to understand exactly what has transpired in the church in Ghana, and what kind of risk our LGBTQI friends and allies there are now facing, but we must commit ourselves to standing with them in whatever ways we can. I hope that it will be possible for us to discuss this matter at this meeting with the goal of hearing a full report and taking action in keeping with Resolution 2015-A051 at our January meeting. Mission Beyond, I believe that this is in your portfolio.

"We must commit ourselves to standing with them in whatever ways we can." 

Those ways will emerge in the days and weeks ahead: the ways we can work to reduce the spread of infection; the ways we can live out our baptismal promise to strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being. But in the short term, here are two things we   can do:

• The first is urge our representatives on Executive Council to act on the PHOD's charge this morning. Here's a link to the Council roster. Reach out to any members you know. If you don't know any of them, use your social media platform to write an open letter to Council and tag people who do. Make some noise!
• The second is to thank President Jennings for her leadership and willingness to stand up and speak out -- once again -- on behalf of God's LGBTQ+ beloved. Go thank her on her Facebook page ... you'll be glad you did!
  
  

Ready. Set. GO!

On Prophets & Crocuses & Queers

 

“On Prophets & Crocuses & Queers” — Sermon preached at All Saints, Pasadena on “Dodger Blue” Sunday (October 10, 2021) with thanks to Jim Naughton, Rose Hayden-Smith, Rabbi Abraham Heschel, +Fred Borsch … and of course, Jesus! === "God of the stand-up triple, the backdoor slider, the stolen base and the 3-6-3, we thank you for the ordered enchantments of the game of baseball. For the snap of a split-finger fastball in a catcher’s mitt and the arc of a white ball against a blue sky, we praise you. For the green of the grass and the throat of the crowd, we glorify you. For the grace and grit, the speed and strength, the skill and savvy of those who take the field, we give you thanks. Creator God, teach us to play fair; to cheer excellence whomever exhibits it, to root for teams worthy of our affections and keep us ever mindful that no matter what the umpire says, in your love, we are always safe at home. Amen." Yes, it's a bit of an indulgence for this died in the wool, second generation, life-long baseball fan to start by giving thanks for the gift of baseball. But my hope is wherever you find yourself on the continuum of baseball fandom, the words of my friend and colleague Jim Naughton are a window into not just the love of a particular game -- or a particular team or a particular playoff season -- but a celebration of all those gifts that give delight, bring joy and offer respite from all the challenges and struggles that surround us. And so I want to begin this morning with a moment focused on gratitude. Just a moment to pause -- to close your eyes if you choose to or not if you don't -- and call up what it is that gives you delight, what it is that brings you joy, what it is you're thankful for this morning. We'll get to the challenges in a minute ... and Lord knows there are plenty of them ... but just for now ... breathe in gratitude for all the blessings of this life ... and breathe out anxiety for all the challenges of this life. And just for a moment be mindful that no matter what anyone says in God's love we are always safe at home. And it is that knowledge -- that sure and certain conviction -- that nothing can separate us from the love of God -- that is the core of the faith we share as followers of Jesus ... the radical rabbi from Nazareth who wasn't always all that welcome in his own hometown. The Gospel this morning tells us that story according to Mark. Mark tells us "they were offended over him" as he preached to them in their synagogue. Luke tells the same story but with a little more graphic detail: "When they heard this, all in the synagogue were filled with rage. They got up, drove him out of the town, and led him to the brow of the hill on which their town was built, so that they might hurl him off the cliff." It turns out a prophet is not only without honor in their hometown -- sometimes a prophet is in danger in their hometown. And little wonder. Speaking truth to power is never popular with the powerful because it just about always involves asking those with power to recognize the usually unexamined privilege that comes with that power ... and it's just a hop, skip and a jump from there to examining that privilege and to being asked to share that power. But that's how change happens -- healing happens -- transformation happens. And since tomorrow is National Coming Out Day I have a quick story as an example. I came out in the National Cathedral in on the 4th of July in 1996 ... but that's not the story I'm going to tell. The story I'm going to tell is about when I came home and met with my then Bishop -- Fred Borsch -- to break the news. Fred asked me two questions for which I've always been grateful -- "how can I help?" and "how are your boys?" And then shared something with me -- which I've never forgotten. He told me he believed the voices, stories and experiences of gay and lesbian people were going to be a gift to the church because they were going to challenge the unexamined sexuality of most straight people ... and while those weren't always going to be easy conversations to have, they were going to be critically important in order to heal the church of the homophobia that infects it and to liberate both the oppressed and those participating in the oppression ... whether they're aware of it or not. "And that includes," he said smiling, "old bishops like me!" I look back today at how far we've come since that July 1996 afternoon in the bishop's office ... recognizing how far we have yet to go ... but also grateful for how far we've come ... and for the prophets on whose shoulders we stand as we continue to do this work we have been called to do. And this feels like a good point to pause for a little refresher course on the job description of the prophet ... something I learned in seminary from Rabbi Abraham Heschel in a book called ( .... wait for it) The Prophets: "The prophet has a two-fold job description: to comfort the afflicted and to afflict the comfortable." The prophet has a both/and job description because we live in a both/and world – and yet we live in a moment when our discourse is dominated by those insisting on simplistic either/or solutions to the complex both/and challenges that face us – a time where the polarization that divides us is as pandemic as the coronavirus that infects us – a time when science is argued to be antithetical to faith and a time when wearing a mask to prevent the spread of a deadly disease has been polarized into a partisan political statement. And it is in just such a time as this that we are all called to the work of the prophet to serve as antibodies to the pandemic of polarization by living into the both/and call to afflict the comfortable and to comfort the afflicted. I know. Seriously. It sounds exhausting, doesn't it? Because it is. And most of us don't feel very much like prophets. At least I know I don't. But like it or not, it is the work we have called to do. When I went off to seminary -- a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away a friend and choir colleague sent me off to seminary with a poem she had copied out on a piece of notebook paper. I kept it folded up in my prayer book and read it over and over and over again ... and I managed to find it yesterday to share with you this morning. It was entitled simply "Crocus." * "It takes courage to be crocus-minded Lord, I'd rather wait till June like wise roses when the hazards of winter are safely behind and I'm expected and everything's ready for roses But crocuses? Highly irregular knifing up through hard frozen ground and snow sticking their necks out because they believe in spring and have something personal and emphatic to say about it Lord, I am by nature rose-minded Even when I have studied the situation her and know there are wrongs that need righting affirmations that need stating and know that my speaking out might even rock the boat Well, I'd rather wait till June Maybe things will sort themselves out and we won't have to make an issue of it Lord, forgive Wrongs don't work themselves out Injustices and inequities and hurts don't just dissolve Somebody has to stick their neck out somebody who cares enough to think through and work through hard ground because they believe and have something personal to say about it Me Lord, crocus minded? Could it be that there are things that need to be said and you want me to say them? OK. Then I pray for courage. Amen." So let us all pray for courage ... each and every one of us ... no matter how "rose-minded" we are ... to ask God to send us into the boats that need rocking, to tell the truths that need telling, to work through the hard ground that needs breaking through. Courage to work to end violence in all its forms and who pray for both victim and perpetrator as we seek healing and wholeness for absolutely every member of the human family. Courage to speak up to end the politicization of public health policies. Courage to afflict those who are so comfortable in their unexamined white privilege that they are blind to the systemic racism that surrounds us and make us people who amplify the voices of those who have endured generations of oppression, marginalization and discrimination. Courage to learn from climate scientists what we must do to be stewards of this fragile earth, our island home and make us people who reject the false narrative that we must choose between science and faith Finally and most importantly courage to claim the resurrection promise, that is the foundation of our faith: trusting that absolutely nothing can separate us from God's love; and that no matter what anyone says in that love we are always safe at home. Amen"

===== *It Takes Courage to be Crocus Minded" by Jo Carr and Imogene Sorley