On Welcoming Sun, 21st July, 2013
As I shared last week, I view myself as being on a path to ministry. Rather than feeling like a destination at which I've arrived, it feels more like a float trip. I've climbed into the kayak and pushed off. Now the current will carry me on the journey but I have no idea how long it will take or whether I will ever arrive at the end. Rivers, after all, flow on and on until they ultimately join the sea, which is itself endless. This is why water is the perfect symbol of life's journey, because it is ever moving, ever changing and adaptable just as our lives often are.
From my vantage point on the river, I'm already seeing things—and in particular, people—from a new perspective. The current leg of the journey is focusing on the work of my church's Welcoming Congregation activities, and specifically, the Welcoming-themed worship service we will conduct next week. Of course, Welcoming in this context is about fully opening our doors, our minds and our hearts to members of the LGBT community. My aim next Sunday will be to help people see—and feel—the spiritual rewards that come from this kind of opening.
The sermon will focus on the personal stories of a diverse set of people who are lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender/intersex. I have had the privilege of interviewing two already and I will share highlights of one of the stories here today, with the other to follow next week.
I'll call him Caleb (not his real name). He grew up in suburban St. Louis in a family who embraces a conservative protestant faith tradition. He knew without a doubt that he was gay from an early age and wanted nothing more than to be who he was without having to lie to his family and hide parts of his life from them. His goal, poignantly and simply expressed, was to be able to bring a boyfriend home for the holidays and have his partner be welcomed and accepted.
With the support of a true friend, he finally mustered the courage to come out to his parents. His mother cried. His father questioned whether he was really sure, and asked if this wasn't just a phase he was going through.
The next day, Caleb's parents took him to see their senior minister. At this point in his story, because of my own faith tradition, I expected him to say that the minister had compassion for his situation and helped his family navigate this transition to a new understanding. No. Instead, I was hearing this young man recount what must have felt like a nightmare. The minister told him, with hardly a moment's reflection, that Caleb had two paths he could take. One was to repent his sin and commit himself fully to resisting his same-sex attraction—in other words to deny his identity and pretend to be straight. The other path was that he could no longer take communion in his church—essentially excommunication.
I was stunned. As a minister who had presumably devoted his life to the teachings of Jesus, these are the only two paths he can envision? It sounded more like a deal with the devil: lie about who you are or suffer eternal damnation.
Obviously, Caleb felt he no longer had a spiritual home in this faith community which caused him great pain. He is exactly the kind of person who needs to, and must, find a refuge in a Welcoming congregation. He asks for nothing special, just to be accepted for who he is and to surround himself with people who, like Jesus and many others, embrace love and acceptance as their primary values.
As I grow into ministry, may I never lose sight of this powerful and fulfilling work to open ourselves to those who need the blessings of community and unconditional love. If other faith traditions offer falsehood and damnation, let us offer truth and acceptance in its place.
That's the only river I know, and now there's no turning back.
As I shared last week, I view myself as being on a path to ministry. Rather than feeling like a destination at which I've arrived, it feels more like a float trip. I've climbed into the kayak and pushed off. Now the current will carry me on the journey but I have no idea how long it will take or whether I will ever arrive at the end. Rivers, after all, flow on and on until they ultimately join the sea, which is itself endless. This is why water is the perfect symbol of life's journey, because it is ever moving, ever changing and adaptable just as our lives often are.
From my vantage point on the river, I'm already seeing things—and in particular, people—from a new perspective. The current leg of the journey is focusing on the work of my church's Welcoming Congregation activities, and specifically, the Welcoming-themed worship service we will conduct next week. Of course, Welcoming in this context is about fully opening our doors, our minds and our hearts to members of the LGBT community. My aim next Sunday will be to help people see—and feel—the spiritual rewards that come from this kind of opening.
The sermon will focus on the personal stories of a diverse set of people who are lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender/intersex. I have had the privilege of interviewing two already and I will share highlights of one of the stories here today, with the other to follow next week.
I'll call him Caleb (not his real name). He grew up in suburban St. Louis in a family who embraces a conservative protestant faith tradition. He knew without a doubt that he was gay from an early age and wanted nothing more than to be who he was without having to lie to his family and hide parts of his life from them. His goal, poignantly and simply expressed, was to be able to bring a boyfriend home for the holidays and have his partner be welcomed and accepted.
With the support of a true friend, he finally mustered the courage to come out to his parents. His mother cried. His father questioned whether he was really sure, and asked if this wasn't just a phase he was going through.
The next day, Caleb's parents took him to see their senior minister. At this point in his story, because of my own faith tradition, I expected him to say that the minister had compassion for his situation and helped his family navigate this transition to a new understanding. No. Instead, I was hearing this young man recount what must have felt like a nightmare. The minister told him, with hardly a moment's reflection, that Caleb had two paths he could take. One was to repent his sin and commit himself fully to resisting his same-sex attraction—in other words to deny his identity and pretend to be straight. The other path was that he could no longer take communion in his church—essentially excommunication.
I was stunned. As a minister who had presumably devoted his life to the teachings of Jesus, these are the only two paths he can envision? It sounded more like a deal with the devil: lie about who you are or suffer eternal damnation.
Obviously, Caleb felt he no longer had a spiritual home in this faith community which caused him great pain. He is exactly the kind of person who needs to, and must, find a refuge in a Welcoming congregation. He asks for nothing special, just to be accepted for who he is and to surround himself with people who, like Jesus and many others, embrace love and acceptance as their primary values.
As I grow into ministry, may I never lose sight of this powerful and fulfilling work to open ourselves to those who need the blessings of community and unconditional love. If other faith traditions offer falsehood and damnation, let us offer truth and acceptance in its place.
That's the only river I know, and now there's no turning back.
